


The Truth Lies

by MediocreGatsby



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Anal Sex, Beta Read, Bottom Castiel, Bottom Dean, Castiel Has Issues, Castiel Has Self-Worth Issues, Castiel is Not a Virgin, Classes, Completed, Depressed Castiel, Depression, Doctors Instead of Psychiatrists, Liberals, M/M, Medication side effects, My Beta Fucking Rocks, Not That Sorry Anyway, Oral Sex, Persistent Depressive Disorder, Political Things, Protective Dean Winchester, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Toys, Smart Castiel, Sorry Not Sorry, Sorry Republicans, Suicidal Thoughts, Tags May Change, Therapy, Top Castiel, Top Dean, Trigger Warnings Each Chapter, US Political Things, Using sex to cope, Which is a very bad idea, Worried Dean, Worried Sam, antidepressants, attempted suicide, democrats, don't do that, getting better, mentions of bullying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-10-30 14:08:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 88,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10878375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MediocreGatsby/pseuds/MediocreGatsby
Summary: New life. New home. New school. Gabriel taking care of him, of all people. New everything. So why did the reason Castiel left still follow him?...Dean was actually happy. For the first time, he allowed himself to think that maybe, just maybe, he could have a fulfilling life.





	1. Casteel Novak?

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> Things about this fic first:
> 
> I will do trigger warnings per chapter at beginning notes. I'm sorry if some don't like it, but to be blunt, mental health triggers mean more to me than anyone's preferences on spoilers.
> 
> This fic is completed and beta read. Will post mainly on Mondays, Wednesday, and Fridays. 
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS:  
> self-deprecation  
> self-harm  
> depressive thought and symptoms

Depression.

It wasn’t like Castiel didn’t suspect it. He knew something was wrong. Growing up the way he did, it was the natural conclusion, wasn’t it?

Castiel’s father had it all: respect, money, a high position in the community, a beautiful wife, and two wonderful sons. He had the perfect apple pie life. That was, until the woman he had an affair with and knocked up died and left him a three-year-old Castiel. Castiel knew his father probably would have just let him get casted into the foster system if it didn’t make him look like a heartless bastard to the community. So, since Castiel’s birth mother didn’t have any relatives, they took him in.

Unfortunately, Mr. Novak’s beautiful wife couldn’t take raising and trying to love the product of her husband’s betrayal. She left. Of course, Mr. Novak and his eldest son, Michael, blamed him. Castiel still thought his father blamed him. Michael came around after a couple of years when he was old enough to realize that it wasn’t Castiel’s fault – he didn’t ask for any of it and was just as hurt by Mrs. Novak’s rejection as the rest of them.

Gabriel never blamed Castiel, though. So, despite the fact most of his childhood was spent with a father who ignored him at best and an older brother who was a little cruel, Castiel at least had Gabriel to defend him and basically raise him.

He was eight when Michael went off to college. Gabriel followed a couple years later. The years between ten and fourteen were the loneliest years, living in a cold house with a father who didn’t love him. Gabriel noticed and tried to help while simultaneously trying to build his own life, but it wasn’t until Michael started to notice the changes in Castiel’s behavior that something was done.

Michael had already gotten a pretty nice job with his degree and was moving up quickly in the company. He was making pretty good money, so after a very short discussion, his father was more than happy to let Michael take over Castiel’s care.

Michael was always working. Castiel didn’t really mind; he’d have the house to himself most of the time, but when Michael did come home, he brought warmth with him. He was strict, sure, not much of a conversationalist, and was more interested in his own life and work than Castiel’s, but he at least loved Castiel.

So that was why he was surprised when Gabriel came over for an impromptu visit a few years later and almost immediately got into a screaming match with Michael.

Gabriel had ended up dropping out of college and opening a joke shop named the Trickster in a small town hundreds of miles away. Castiel had been there a few times and Gabriel would come over for holidays, but they mostly stayed in contact with short weekly calls and occasional texts. Castiel didn’t mean to have been pushing Gabriel away the last few months – it was just sometimes exhausting to talk to his overly joyed and bouncing brother. Particularly lately for whatever reason. He should have known that Gabriel wouldn’t stand for it for too long.

Castiel listened to the screaming match from his room. Dirty clothes were everywhere. His room kind of stunk. Well, so did Castiel, so he didn’t mind it too much. He was laying on his bed, causally running his razor blade across the side of his stomach as he had done so many times before, racking his brain trying to figure out why Gabriel was so upset as he listened.

“JUST LOOK AT HIM, MICHAEL! SOMETHING’S NOT OKAY.”

“HE’S A TEENAGE BOY. THEY GET MOODY. THAT’S WHAT THEY DO.”

Castiel nodded, agreeing. Why was Gabriel making it seem so bad? He was in a funk. It happens.

“THIS ISN’T MOODY, MICHAEL! THIS IS CLINICAL.”

“HE’S ALWAYS BEEN DOWN – LOOK AT THE WAY HE GREW UP. LOOK AT THE WAY HIS FATHER TREATED HIM – “

“EXACTLY, AND HE’S BEEN GETTING WORSE AND WORSE FOR YEARS NOW!”

Castiel sighed and dug the razor blade a little deeper. He didn’t much want to think about his childhood, or life really. Feeling his warm blood trickle down his side calmed him some. He started to tune out the yelling and just focus on the contrast of the pinch of pain and the warmth of the blood.

Which is why he didn’t hear his door swing open, only Gabriel’s gasp.

He immediately jumped up, trying to pull down his shirt, but they saw it. All of it. Years of scaring across his stomach. He looked down and already saw a little blood starting to bleed through this shirt.

Michael was staring at it, turning pale as a ghost; whereas, Gabriel was starting at it, his face turning red with rage. At a few moments of Castiel studying them as they stood there in shock, Gabriel turned to Michael and simply said, “He’s going to live with me for now on,” before walking away, hands clinched in fists.

“Michael?” Castiel asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Michael’s eyes moved up to meet Castiel’s. He looked like he was going to be sick.

“I’m so sorry, Castiel. Please forgive my neglect.”

The next week was a whirlwind of chaos conducted by Gabriel.

Castiel was switched over to Gabriel’s insurance, Michael signed him over to be Castiel’s legal guardian, and Castiel was put under everything of Gabriel’s: his cell phone plan, his car insurance, everything.

Then Gabriel washed all his clothes, practically packed everything himself, rented a moving van, and that was that.

Michael had taken that entire week off from work and spent almost every minute with Castiel, taking him to movies, bowling, even a theme park. His guilt oozed out of every pore, and Castiel spent that week trying his damnedest to tell Michael that he was okay, Gabriel was overreacting, he didn’t have to send Castiel away. But Michael pleaded with him, asking him to please get help, and to please forgive him.

Their parting hug was tight and long, and he promised Castiel he would visit, call a lot, and when Castiel was “better”, they could talk about him moving back. The look on Michael’s face as they pulled away broke Castiel’s heart, and he spent the entire trip cursing himself on how he could have possibly turn into such a piece of fucking shit to have done that to his brother when Michael had spent years giving him shelter and a home.

Such a fucking piece of shit, and now that he was done burdening and crushing one brother, he was off to do the same to the other. Couldn’t they realize he was just not worth it? He wasn’t worth this trouble.

The next week was equally chaotic. Gabriel took him everywhere to thoroughly decorate his new room, having him pick out a big bed, the “coolest” dresser, and a desk “suited for Einstein.” He made him spend hours picking out paint colors and posters. It didn’t take long for Gabriel to realize that the only real decorations Castiel was interested in were old movie posters and maps. So off they went to some craft store that had aisles of it. It was exhausting.

The next day while Gabriel hired professionals to put Castiel's room together, they were out “tackling his mental health”. First, they went to the doctor, Dr. Tan, his official primary care physician. After a physical and getting blood drawn, he had to take a survey on a “depression score sheet”. With Gabriel there, he was forced to tell the truth under the threat of telling the painters to paint his room hot pink and put up my little pony posters.

They waited forever for all the results to come back.

Then the medications began. Three different kinds of antidepressants, one in the morning that would also help with energy, one in the afternoon that would also help as mood stabilizer, and one at night that would also help him sleep. Then there were some more pills that she went on and on about – including 5,000 IU of Vitamin-D a day because his blood showed that, though the count of VD in your body should be around 60 or 70, Castiel’s was 8.

But Castiel wasn’t listening anymore because despite knowing better, he allowed himself to hope a little. Gabriel came swooping in, making him feel like maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t what life was. Maybe all the ugly thoughts weren’t true. That things could end up being amazing. But when Dr. Tan diagnosed him with Persistent Depressive Disorder and said the words, “you will most likely be on and off antidepressants for the rest of your life” that tiny little flicker of light at this end of this dark tunnel went completely out.

He was the problem. It was his fault. He really was just as fucked up as he thought, and that blow hit him _hard._

He was quiet while Gabriel and Dr. Tan talked. Quiet when they went to pick up all his prescriptions. Quiet when they went to the therapist Dr. Tan recommended. Quiet during his session with the annoyingly patient and seemingly knowing therapist, Missouri. Quiet on the way home.

He only piped up to speak and force a smile when Gabriel showed him his new room. Because Gabriel looked so excited, and he didn’t want his illness bleeding out and infecting his amazing brother.

So that’s how Castiel found himself laying on his brand-new bed and his brand-new sheets in his brand-new room supposedly starting a brand-new life. Only, a new life with a dark monster who would stalk him.

He supposed his room was, actually, pretty fucking perfect.

Gabriel lived above his joke shop. The heart of the apartment was a very open floor plan with the only thing dividing the living room and kitchen was a leg of his L shaped kitchen counter. At the back of the kitchen was a door that opened to crooked stairs leading to a deck overlooking the small patch of undergrown land, protected by metal fencing around it. There were decks on either side as well for the upstairs apartments of whatever shops Gabriel’s was squished between.

From the living room was a narrow hallway with three doors: Gabriel’s master suite, Castiel’s new room, and directly across from that was the bathroom. He guessed his bathroom now, since Gabriel had his own in the master suite.

The entire apartment screamed Gabriel with sway carpeting and even a disco ball hanging above the couch. But Castiel’s room screamed Castiel, and he had to admit he was a little impressed. Especially considering he barely helped.

The walls and ceiling were a light gray, except the back wall which was painted a dark, dark red that it was almost black. The queen size bed (Castiel had to actually stop Gabriel from getting him a king sized) actually fit nicely since the room was a lot bigger than Castiel remembered it when it was a guest bedroom. The headboard of his new bed consisted of shelves already holding several of his books and a glass sculpture of a penis that Gabriel insisted Castiel have. “To give the room some personality,” he believed Gabriel had said. His distilled desk that was made to look like something from the 1600s sat neatly the opposite corner of his bed, and his prism shaped dresser sat by the closest. Despite having none of the wood of the bed, dresser, and desk the same, they somehow matched. Old movie posters were everywhere except the red wall, which displayed a collage of maps next to the window.

The room smelled like honey for some reason.

It took an hour of lying there wallowing in his own self-pity before Castiel realized the distinct lack of sharp objects anywhere.

Curious, Castiel got up and went the bathroom. Yep, no sharp objects in there either, and his normal razor had been replaced with a new one that had protective plastic so tight around the blade, Castiel doubted he would ever be able to get it out.

He’d just have to buy some himself and hide them.

“Oh, Cassie, time for din-“ Gabriel was cut off from the announcement he was hollering playfully as he walked down the hall by catching sight of Castiel standing in the bathroom with the razor in his hand. He froze and swallowed, looking nervous. “You, uh… Do you feel like cutting?”

“Not particularly,” Castiel said calmly as he opened the vanity’s drawer and put the razor back. “I was just examining my new razor I don’t remember buying.”

“Well,” Gabriel sighed, looking relieved, “not for nothing, but that one’s better anyway. So, be mad all you want, but at least you’ll have a smooth shave.” He quirked a smile and then jerked his thumb over his shoulder to the direction on the kitchen. “Come on, let’s eat and discuss school.”

Castiel sighed and followed him. The way Gabriel had his apartment set up didn’t allow for a table, so they ate across from each other on the counter that stuck out separating the two rooms.

That night Gabriel had made spaghetti, which though he was not very hungry, Castiel forced himself to try to eat it all.

“So, I figured you could start school on Monday. Y’know, take a few days to settle in before entering the new jungle of Lawrence High.”

“Okay.”

“I already bought you some school supplies,” he informed as he twirled his fork around the pasta. “Instead of one big binder, I got you seven notebooks with those folder thingys on the inside. If I remember correctly, you like those. Got ‘em white, too, for your doodles.”

“Thank you.”

“I already talked to the school, and they are really fucking impressed with your transcript,” Gabriel smiled proudly, tomato sauce on his chin. He took another bite and continued. “They said you’re way more advanced than a lot of what they have to offer – small town, y’know how it goes. So, they suggest you take AP classes for the last of your required classes, and then just take electives.”

“What required classes are there left for me to take?”

Gabriel made a -I’m thinking- noise as he slurped up more pasta, causing tomato sauce to flick up onto his nose as well. “Just five more, I think? History, math, English, a science, and some kind of Physical-ED requirement this school has. Which goes along with an exercise Dr. Tan wants you to do.”

“Great,” Castiel mumbled.

“School just started like last week, so I doubt you’ve missed much.”

Castiel hummed his acknowledgement.

“So!” Gabriel clapped his hands and pulled over a sheet of paper from the adjacent counter. “Here’s the list of classes. Just circle the ones you want to take, and I’ll let the school know.”

Castiel looked over the list while he picked at the garlic bread. The school day consisted of seven classes, and he could just go ahead and take all his required classes and slap on two electives. Which meant next semester could be just electives. Or better yet, he might graduate in December and be fucking done. Unless this school did the whole credits-needed-to-graduate thing differently, which something told him it did. So, he circled all the required classes, and then an art class and a class called Current Events, before sliding it back to Gabriel.

“Hmm,” Gabriel mused over his choices. “AP Calculus, AP History, AP English, Chemistry – because god forbid an AP chem course – you’re going to be so bored, and… Weight Training? My baby bro is going to be buff!” Gabriel said with a smirk and wink. “And Art and Current Events. I like it.”

“I’m so glad to have your approval” Castiel mumbled.

After dinner, Gabriel gave him his nighttime meds, and Castiel shut himself in his room. In no time, he was out like a light.

…

Gabriel may not have been as strict as Michael, but at least Michael just gave Castiel an allowance. Gabriel demanded he work for money, preferably at his joke shop. Which Castiel guessed wasn’t too bad of a deal. When he needed, or wanted, money, he could put in a few hours there, and Gabriel would give him some cash at the end of the day. He wasn’t a real employee, which meant he didn’t have the pressure of a set schedule and all the stresses of a real job. He didn’t think he could handle that right now, and he was pretty sure Gabriel didn’t think so either.

Instead of getting out and about, exploring the new town as Gabriel kept insisting he should do, Castiel spent the weekend either locked up in his room drawing on his new notebooks, or sitting behind the counter of the joke shop, still drawing on his new notebooks. Gabriel seemed pleased with himself when he saw Castiel drawing on them. Castiel always drew on his notebooks, though admittedly he used to draw all the time. He remembered loving it at one point. Maybe he shouldn’t be taking an art course.

By the end of the weekend, most of his notebooks were littered with doodles and lines, and he’d earned $60.

Gabriel had spent a long time talking with Castiel’s doctor and therapist and reading pamphlets and webpages on depression, so it was no surprise when he woke Castiel up super fucking early on Monday to give him plenty of time to work up enough energy to get ready for school. A part of Castiel was relieved when the doctor had said that his apparent inability to even get up and shower sometimes was a symptom. But now he was starting to wonder what it would mean in a couple of months when the drugs have built up in his system and he was _still_ like this.

_It’s because you’re lazy and disgusting. This isn’t a symptom; you’re just fucked up. A lazy, disgusting piece of shit. It’s stupid to think you’re going to get better. This is just who you are, and eventually Gabriel will realize it and stop trying to help._

These were the thoughts that circled over and over in Castiel’s head as they drove to school. He was just in jeans and a gray pull-over hoodie, but somehow by time they got to the school, he had convinced himself that it’s the armor of the lazy and disgusting, and people were going to take one look at him and give him a wide berth so they wouldn’t have to smell him – because of course they’re going to think he was nothing but BO in these clothes even though he actually showered that morning. Even seeing others dressed similarly, he knew somehow because he was wearing it, it was disgusting. Made _him_ disgusting.

“You can probably walk to school if you wanted, but since it’s your first day, I thought I’d give you a lift,” Gabriel said, breaking the silence as he pulled up to the school. “So, I’ll be right here when school is over. If you want, that is.”

Castiel nodded as Gabriel eyed him wearily.

“Good luck, baby bro. Text me if you need anything.”

Castiel nodded again and pushed out of the car. He felt exhausted, and judging by his reflection in the glass doors as he pushed through them, he looked it too. At least the good thing about being lazy and disgusting and nobody wanting anything to do with him was that he wouldn’t have to do any socializing. So… there was that, he guessed.

…

Dean was in the best damn mood.

He was finally over Lisa – and being pissed off that she cheated on him and gotten pregnant. He actually helped her pack up her things since she was moving to live with her grandparents (her parents did not take the teenage-pregnancy and the whole I’m-keeping-it thing very well). He was actually proud of her for choosing to keep the damn thing, and it was a wonderful feeling not to have that anger and resentment bubble in him.

Plus, Sam was happy. He was getting over the father abandonment blues, and once a whole year went by without them having to move, he was over the moon about laying down roots. Living with Bobby was really the best thing for both of them, and he thought he might want to lay down some roots too. He had friends, real friends, friends he was allowed to keep. That in and of itself was something huge for him.

He wasn’t doing too badly in school – at least he knew he was definitely going to graduate. Or, most likely anyway. He knew he wasn’t going to college and already had a job waiting for him at Bobby’s when he was done with school. Maybe he could eventually save money and open his own shop here in town one day. Maybe he’d even get married one day. Have a family. Maybe that was actually a possibility for him.

So yeah, he was in a damn good mood as he patiently waited in traffic heading towards the school, listening to _Moneytalks_ and loudly singing along. Sam rode to school with some of their friends, so he had the freedom to really belt it out.

He was still humming it to himself as he parked and went into the school. He immediately fell in step with Crowley as they walked to their homeroom.

“Someone’s in a good mood,” Crowley observed.

“I’m always in a good mood.”

“Right, and I work in a soup kitchen on weekends.”

Dean snorted, making his way inside the classroom and to the back, Crowley following.

“It’s because Lisa’s officially gone, isn’t it?” Crowley asked, sitting down next to Dean.

Dean just shrugged. “Do we have to analyze my good mood, or can we just enjoy it while it lasts,” he smirked.

Crowley held up his hands in surrender and changed the topic.

 …

Castiel found his locker soon enough and deposited his notebooks and backpack. Homeroom was first, and only half an hour, so he guessed he didn’t need to bring anything with him. Though he still brought one of the notebooks just to give himself something to do.

He noted as he past classroom after classroom, looking for the right one, that every door was at the front of the classroom. Meaning everyone would see him when he walked in. He knew it was probably so kids couldn’t just sneak in and out when the teacher wasn’t looking, but it still made him uncomfortable. He felt like he already had a spotlight on him; he didn’t need all eyes on him as soon as he walked in.

Taking an encouraging breath before he walked into the right classroom, Castiel reminded himself to just focus on what was immediate and at hand, like Missouri told him. Which right now was literally just to walk in and sit down. That was it. That was all he had to do. He could do this.

No sooner than being three steps in, someone called his name, incorrectly he might add. He turned to see a sweet looking woman with her hair pinned back in a bun behind the teacher’s desk. She motioned for him to come over, so he did, thankful that the kids in the class seemed too busy talking amongst themselves to notice him.

“You’re the new kid, right? Casteel Novak?”

“Castiel, and yes.”

“Castiel. Got it. Welcome, Castiel. The bell’s about to ring, so just wait here and I’ll introduce you when it does.”

“I-… but… Do we have to?”

She nodded and gave him a bright smile. “It’s tradition!”

She was far too peppy, and Castiel immediately went from worried, anxious, and tired, to annoyed and impatient, probably because he was worried, anxious, and tired. He just wanted to fucking sit down. Just let him fucking sit down.

True to her – Ms. Williams? – word, the bell rang after a moment, and she was quickly hushing the class.

“Everyone, we have a new student joining us today. Give a warm welcome to Castiel Novak.”

Some people mumbled hello’s, and oddly, some people gave a small clap.

“Castiel, would you please tell us something about yourself?”

Castiel physically winced at that. “Really?” he said dejectedly, knowing the answer.

She nodded happily. “I’m sure we would all love to learn something about you.”

Castiel sighed, glancing around the room but not really seeing anyone. They were all looking at him. Him, the lazy, disgusting piece of shit. They’re all going to hate him anyway, so what’s the point? What’s the point of any of this? He just wanted to sit the fuck down.

So, he shrugged, looking wildly around for the first thing about himself that came to mind – well, that wasn’t self-deprecating, at least. “I, uh… I think Will Smith is hot.”

Everyone began whispering, but to his surprise, some people laughed, and one of the boys in the back with light brown hair and a blue plaid shirt called out, “Damn right he is!”

Castiel didn’t wait for everyone to settle down or for the teacher to give the go ahead. He gave a slight nod to the class and made his way to the back, sitting in an empty desk as far away from everyone as he could.

He knew he looked and sounded aloof and like he couldn’t care less. He was actually wonderful at doing that. That beautiful apathetic wall that protected him. But inside, he immediately began cursing himself because in one failed swoop, he outed himself. In front of everyone. Not ten fucking minutes attending this new school.

Great, Novak. Good going.

At least he wasn’t tired anymore. Plus, it did seem like the people who laughed did so because they thought he was funny, not because they were laughing _at_ him.

He pulled out his phone and sent a group text to Michael and Gabriel.

**[Delivered 8:03 AM]  
My teacher just had me stand up in front of everyone and tell them something about myself.**

It took no time for Gabriel to reply.

**[Received 8:04 AM]  
what did u say?**

**[Delivered 8:04 AM]  
I think Will Smith is hot.**

Gabriel sent back a face-palm emoji, and not a minute later, Michael responded.

**[Received 8:05 AM]  
That’s not too bad. I’m straight, and I can agree with your statement.**

He thanked Michael for his support, wondering if he would pick up the sarcasm. He spent the rest of homeroom drawing on the inside cover of his notebook, forcing himself not to look at anyone for fear of doing something else stupid.

 


	2. Are you gay?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Let me put it this way, honey. I like cock almost as much as you obviously do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't who all out there has a beta, but you should be jealous with how awesome mine is.
> 
> Note: The Republicans in this chapter do not represent all Republicans. They represent people I know who piss me off. I promise I don't hate Republicans. I just strongly disagree with them 99% of the time.
> 
> TW:  
> self-deprecating thoughts  
> political debate  
> talk of abortion  
> mentions of self harm

His first class was AP Calculus. The teacher had all the desks in two rows, wrapping around the classroom creating a semi-circle. One look told Castiel this teacher had assigned seats. So, he waited patiently by her desk as people filed in, casting him curious glances. Mrs. Valut was one of the last ones to arrive.

“Oh, hello” she smiled at him. “You’re the new one?”

Castiel nodded. She went over to a corner cabinet and returned with a big text book. “Here you go, sweetie.” Then, raising her voice a little so the whole classroom could hear, “Why don’t go ahead and tell the class your name and something about yourself.”

Was this going to happen every class? In this small town and small school, most likely. He needed to get use to the idea now and push through.

He took a deep breath and threw his aloof wall back up. “Castiel Novak, and uh…” he looked around again, searching for something to say. “I don’t like math very much.”

Everyone chuckled, including the teacher, and she patted him on the shoulder and said, “Let’s see what we can do about that. How about you sit over there beside Sam,” she pointed to the edge of the semi-circle at one the empty desks beside a boy with brown hair and smiling dimples at him. Castiel nodded and made his way over.

Valut began the lesson, and ten minutes in, Castiel was rubbing his temples, trying to massage away the starts of what promised to be a bad headache.

 _This_ is what they call _AP_ calculus? This material was what Castiel did in pre-cal. He looked around at all the battered textbooks, the battered desks, the old posters, and the old whiteboard that had a couple cracks in it. In his old school, they had Smartboards, iPads instead of books, all of that. This school was woefully underfunded, and because of that, the students were being woefully undereducated.

Gabriel was right. He was going to be so fucking bored.

Valut eventually instructed them to do the ten questions at the end of the chapter, which he did in five minutes flat. She then instructed them to switch papers with the person next to them and went around passing out the answer sheets to check their neighbor’s work.

Sam got three wrong. Castiel got none wrong.

“I thought you said you didn’t like Math,” the Sam guy chuckled as he handed his paper back to him.

“I don’t. That doesn’t mean I can’t do it.”

“Apparently,” Sam smiled at him. Castiel considered smiling back, but found it was easier to just pack up his work instead. He left when the bell rang without looking back; a small part of him wondered if that was rude or not, but a much bigger part of him didn’t really care.

AP English was next, and Castiel immediately assumed he should wait patiently at the front. Not long after, no other than Sam walked in. He smiled Castiel in polite greeting, in no way indicating Castiel ignoring him earlier bothered him, and took his seat. When the teacher came in, he was holding a cup of coffee that Castiel would do anything to have for himself.

“Hello, and who are you?” he asked, setting down papers and his coffee on his desk.

“Castiel Novak. I’m new.”

The man – Mr. Harvey – nodded as he hummed in acknowledgement and bent down to a big pile of textbooks stacked up in the corner. “Here you are, Mr. Novak. Oh also…” he grabbed a novel from another stack of books on the floor and handed it to him. It was _The Scarlet Letter._ Really?

Like… really? This was supposed to be _AP_.

“You got your books, how about you tell the class something about yourself. Class” he called to get their attention. “This is Castiel. Castiel, this is the class. Share something with us.”

He was ready this time, with his wall already up. He glanced down at his book, then back to the class. “Uh… I think Nathaniel Hawthorne could have seriously benefited from lessons in editing.”

Everyone laughed, especially Harvey. “Oh, yeah? And why is that, Castiel?”

“Because he never shuts up. If it doesn’t have to do with character, plot, or symbolic development, I really, _really_ , don’t care about the color and designs of the laced dollies on a coffee table.”

At this, everyone laughed again, seemingly thrilled at the Nathaniel Hawthorne insults. “Well, Castiel, I really look forward to reading your analytical papers. Take a seat wherever you like.”

Everyone was still chuckling as Castiel searched the room. There were three empty desks: one behind what had to be a cheerleader, one in front of someone eating chips – and he really didn’t want to listen to that all lesson, and of course, one behind Sam. Figuring Sam was the safest option, he went there.

“Dude, you’re a riot,” Sam whispered to him as he sat down.

“Thank you,” Castiel replied, not having a clue what Sam meant by that. His tone didn’t sound like it was insulting, so he left it at that.

Harvey started the lesson, and as he predicted, Castiel already knew all this information. He already read the poem they read in class, already read the current novel assigned to them, and had already written all the papers associated with it. He was the first one done when Harvey asked for an analytical analysis of the poem – having written two pages about it in about ten minutes – and went back to doodling, trying desperately not to think self-depreciating thoughts. The rest of the class spent the last of the lesson writing, and Harvey took pity on a few and let them finish it that night as homework.

As he packed up, Sam turned to him.

“So, you’re super good at Math and English, huh?”

“I wouldn’t place any level of skill based on using information I already know. If they teach me something new, then we’d find out.”

Sam looked at him for a moment then chuckled. He stood and saluted him. “Here’s hoping you learn something new, then.”

Castiel just nodded in return and headed out to find his next class.

When he walked into the art room, he was surprised to find the teacher’s desk way in the back of the room. The classroom was huge, students’ pieces hanging all around. Instead of desk, there were six big tables with chairs all around them, stained with paint and the like. He made his way to stand by the teacher’s desk and was pleasantly surprised that no one paid him any attention as students came in. Instead, they all searched the side tables of the room and cabinets, collecting their projects and material they needed, and took their seats. The room was buzzing with talk and laughter as everyone got to work when the teacher came in.

“Hello, Mr. Milton,” Castiel said, feeling like he needed to take the initiative here. Mr. Milton wasn’t paying too much attention and honestly looked like he had just woken up.

“Oh, hello. Who are you?”

“Castiel Novak. I’m new.”

“Shit, was I supposed to know about you?”

Castiel shrugged, “I don’t know.”

“Eh, well… I know about you now, so I guess that’s a win. Hang on.” Mr. Milton circled back to the other side of the classroom and went into a very large closet. He came back out holding a small textbook and smiled when he reached Castiel, handing it to him.

“So, let’s see… This semester….” He mumbled to himself as he began to dig through some papers in a desk drawer. “I believe we’re… hm… Yes, here we are.” He pulled back up and handed Castiel a syllabus. “We’ve already covered the first three chapters and are about to finish up the fourth. They’re short and go by quick. The project this month just started, so how about you just jump on that as well? I don’t care what you do, or in what medium, or use what material, it just has to represent something that is of great importance to you. That’s this month’s theme. Oh, but you can’t use like blood and any dead animals. Not even their bones. We got in big trouble last year for that. So that’s that. How about while you think on what you want to do for your project, you just read the chapters?”

Castiel didn’t say anything, he just encouraged his brain to process everything he’d been told.

“I’m not very good at, like, adjusting grades to fit the time you’ve been here, so how about after you read the chapters, I give you the quizzes and stuff we already did for them? And I’ll just go ahead and count your reading as an A on homework. Sound good?”

“Uh… yes, sir.”

“Cool. Have fun.” And like that, he sat and began riffling through his papers.

Well, apparently, he didn’t care about introducing him or where he sat. Castiel cautiously made his way to the least crowded table and sat down.

The table was closest to the windows, and there are only two occupants: a redheaded girl doing a cross stitch of Yoda, and a Korean boy making a serious face and very careful lines to grid mark his poster.

“Whoa, your notebook is super cool,” the redhead said, that being the first thing she noticed as she looked up to see the new addition to the table. “Did you do that?”

“Yes,” Castiel replied simply.

“That’s awesome!”

“Thank you,” he mumbled, opening his textbook, pointedly ending the conversation. He wanted to be nice, he did, it was just… he was so tired. He barely had enough energy to do his school work, let alone carry a conversation. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he reminded himself that this girl and apparently Sam have approached him and talked to him. Which meant maybe they didn’t think he was a disgusting piece of shit, but then he reminded himself of what a fucking idiot he had been to think that anyone would immediately know what he was just because of his clothes. So, the thought didn’t make him feel better; it only served to give him just another thing to beat himself up for.

And that thought just made him more tired.

Refocusing back on the textbook, it didn’t take him long to have to stop himself from rolling his eyes. He was in Art _3_ , but of course… He flipped through the first four chapters, spotting their headlines and skimming their contents. He knew all this. These were artists and technics he learned about in Art 1 back in his old high school.

Sighing, he got back up and headed to Mr. Milton.

“Uh, sir?”

“What’s up?” Mr. Milton asked without looking up from his papers.

“I already know all this material. I’m confident I can go ahead and take the quizzes and tests now. Might as well get it over with.”

Mr. Milton looked up while he spoke, a little shocked, but he smiled and said, “Awesome!” He took a couple of minutes digging out blank copies of all quizzes and tests they’ve had so far. When he handed them to him, he added, “We have a test on chapter four in a couple of days. So, if you do those, and if you want, answer all the questions at the end of the chapters, you’ll be caught up with the rest of ‘em.”

“Okay. Thank you, sir.”

It took Castiel twenty minutes to do the eleven quizzes, three tests, and answer all the questions in all four chapters. When he got back from returning them to Mr. Milton, both the girl and boy at the table are just staring at him.

“What?” he asked.

“Did you just do all of what we’ve done so far in like, what, fifteen minutes?” the girl asked.

“Twenty. And yes.”

The Korean boy’s eyes widened. “How did you do that?”

“I already knew the material.”

“Dude! You should totally join our study group!” the redhead exclaimed, looking thoroughly excited with the idea. “I’m Charlie, and this is Kevin, and we usually cram together before our tests. Especially since Kevin usually gets too worked up over the project portion, like now,” she chuckled at her friend.

“That’s because I suck at art,” Kevin said.

“Then why are you taking the class?” Castiel asked.

“Because it looks great on college applications to follow an elective through,” Kevin shrugged.

Castiel nodded. “Well, thank you for the offer, but as I already know the material, it would be quite redundant for me to ‘cram’ for a test.”

Charlie immediately looked disappointed, but Kevin turned serious again. “Then can I have your number? Call you with questions and things?”

Castiel was taken aback. “This is very important to you,” he observed.

“Yeah, man. Please?”

“Um… alright.”

“Ooh, me too, please!” Charlie asked, looking hopeful once again. Castiel agreed and gave both Kevin and Charlie his number.

The rest of the class period was spent with Kevin obsessing over his grid, and Charlie trying to make small talk with Castiel. He wouldn’t really let her go beyond small talk. He knew good and well that all his insecurities that were keeping him from being more open with her were not healthy, but instead of pushing through and trying, he chastised himself for being too much of a coward. He was weak. Even if he could get better, he was never going to be good enough for someone like Charlie, who seemed nice and genuinely interesting. She was a _happy_ person, and Castiel was clenched in the claws of misery. She didn’t deserve to be dragged down by his monsters.

Finally, class was over. Lunch was next. The school was small enough to only need two lunch periods, so knowing that literally half the school would be in the cafeteria made Castiel endlessly grateful that Gabriel offered to drive to the school and have lunch with him. He met him at one of the side parking lots. Gabriel had pulled up on the curve and was leaning against his Camaro. Castiel barely gave him a greeting before flopping down on the sidewalk next to him, back leaning against the front tire.

“That bad, huh?” Gabriel asked as he sat, too, handing him a brown bag. Inside was a ham and Swiss on rye and a chocolate pudding cup.

“It’s not bad, it’s just… a long day, I guess,” he answered, pulling out and unwrapping the sandwich.

“Well, it’s half over, I guess, right?”

Castiel nodded.

“And it was worth it, because now I get to hang over your head that you came out of the closet within three minutes of your first day to an entire class of kids…” Gabriel chuckled. Castiel shot him a glare but otherwise didn’t comment.

…

“Hey, isn’t that the new kid?” Dean heard someone whisper. He glanced around trying to find the reason for the comment, and his eyes immediately caught Castiel out the window next to him. He was sitting on the sidewalk with none other than Gabe. _Gabe?_ How the hell did he know Gabe? Well, everyone in town knew Gabe, but the kid just got here, didn’t he?

Rumors about the new kid had been spreading like wild fire all throughout the day. Apparently, as well as being from Paris, LA, Canada, and Russia, he used to be a model in NYC, a scuba diver in Australia, a drug lord in Chicago, and lost his father – a super-secret special agent for the CIA – in a horrible accident in Las Vegas. Oh yeah, he also had an affair with Will Smith.

The main thing everyone was trying to find out was if Castiel was or was not gay. That seemed to be the big fucking mystery of the kid. Dean was there for his Will Smith-is-hot announcement, and to Dean, whether he’s gay or bi or what, he sounded genuinely attracted to the man.

Of course, with Charlie being gay, Crowley being gay, and Dean being bi, they were naturally informed immediately upon of the arrival of another LGBT member as soon as he hit town, so of course, they would know his sexual orientation. Each and every time they answered with a _I don’t know; I don’t know the guy_ , Dean was getting more and more pissed off.

Looking at Castiel now, who looked just utterly exhausted, Dean assumed he’d been hounded all day from all the gossip and noisy people. Poor guy. With his hair all messed up like he’s been running his hand through it, and a frown that looked like it’d accepted some gruesome fate, Dean could only imagine what people have been asking him. No wonder he was skipping the cafeteria and opting for a quiet lunch outside. Maybe Gabe, the town’s trickster and playboy, could cheer him up.

Dean didn’t care about the rumors. The only thing he believed were from what his friends were telling him. He saw the kid’s notebook in homeroom, so he didn’t doubt Charlie when she told him he had some mad artistic skills. According to Sam, dude’s a genius, and hilarious. His introduction to each class had apparently been him insulting the class in some way. His genius also apparently extended to art as well. Charlie reported it took the dude just twenty minutes to literally do all the homework, quizzes, and tests they’ve done so far this semester. He didn’t want to join Charlie’s and Kevin’ study group, though – and Dean didn’t blame the guy. He literally just met them. But he was nice enough to give them his number if they ever needed help.

So, the school had gotten an admittedly superhot, genius, nice but with a mouth on him, artist.

Dean tried to turn back to the lesson, but after a few minutes of continually glancing out the window towards the guy, he gave up and just let himself stare, now just glancing every now and then to the front pretending to pay attention.

Gabe’s talking animatedly to Castiel, a sandwich in one hand, speaking around the food in his mouth. It didn’t even look like Castiel was listening. He was just slowly eating his way through his sandwich, staring at it the whole time.

He didn’t look just tired, he looked… sad, almost. Gabe shot Castiel a worried glance, then resumed whatever story he was telling. Normally when people ignored Gabe, they’d suddenly get an ear-full that they couldn’t ignore. Why was he letting Castiel off the hook? Who was he to him?

As though he could sense Dean’s gaze, Castiel suddenly looked up. Dean’s not sure how well Castiel could see him through the window, but apparently, it was well enough for him to frown and tilt his head. He glanced around, like he was trying to find out the purpose for Dean’s staring, then nudged Gabe’s arm and motioned towards Dean.

When Gabe caught Dean’s eye, his face broke out in a huge smile and waved. Dean smiled and waved back, and Castiel looked satisfied, as though he assumed Dean was staring a Gabe, not him. Which, as Dean thought about it, was a very nice cover.

He ducked his head after that and resolved himself to paying attention to the lesson. Within a minute, he received a text from Gabe, and that resolve melted to nothing.

**[Received 11:18 AM]  
well don’t look so happy to see me dean-o**

Dean snorted and glanced back. Castiel had gone back to eating and staring at his sandwich, but Gabe was making faces at Dean.

**[Delivered 11:19 AM]  
Make all the faces you want, you still ugly**

**[Delivered 11:19 AM]  
Who’s your sad friend?**

Dean felt a little invasive asking, but only because he had secretly been trying to find out stuff about Castiel like the rest of the school. God, what were small towns doing to him?

He chanced another glance outside. Gabe was on his phone, undoubtedly texting Dean back, and Castiel was finishing his sandwich, pulling what looked like a pudding cup out of a brown paper bag. His phone buzzing made him tear his eyes away.

**[Received 1:20 AM]  
my lil bro. he moved in with me last week**

Wow, Dean didn’t see that one coming. So, Castiel was living with Gabe, his brother of all things. Why? Why did he move? What about his parents? Gabe never really talked about his family, but he and Dean have traded some stories about their brothers, exchanging proud grins and smiles. Dean wondered if this was the brother Gabe had talked about.

He shook his head, glanced out again to find Gabe smearing pudding across Castiel’s face. He snickered a little to himself and texted back.

**[Delivered 11:22 AM]  
Sweet. Tell him to cheer up. And stop wasting pudding, you heathen.**

He watched as Gabe got his text, read it, laughed, and showed it to Castiel, who was trying to use the paper bag to wipe the pudding off his face. Castiel gave Gabe a mean glare and said something that had Gabe laughing even harder. He pushed some buttons on his phone, and then took a selfie of himself and Castiel, Castiel looking up into the camera with a fierce withering stare. Dean felt his phone vibrate again and saw Gabe give him a thumbs up before checking it.

Gabe had sent Dean the picture he just took and wrote:

**[Received 11:29 AM]  
my bad. I think I just made it angry**

The bell rang before Dean could reply, so he waved bye out the window, getting a return wave from both brothers.

…

Despite the faint smell of chocolate pudding in his nose, lunch with Gabriel did serve to cheer him up some. Gabriel wasn’t forcing Castiel to be a part of the conversation anymore, and therefore, hanging out with him was much less exhausting than it was last week. The only thing that wasn’t good was that whoever Gabriel’s friend was said Castiel looked sad, which meant his wall was down. He just hoped it was someone who didn’t give two fucks and not someone who’s going to immediately find him and ask if he was okay.

His next class was AP History, and he found it of no surprise that the teacher had him say something about himself to the class (“I find it ridiculous we still honor Christopher Columbus so much when he died still thinking he found a shortcut to Asia, not the that he found the Americas.”), or that the textbook was old and battered, or that Sam was in the class, or that once again, he already knew all the material. The classroom didn’t have traditional desks, instead it had rows of tables that fit two. Rachel, the call-me-by-my-first-name-because-I-desperately-want-to-be-a-cool-teacher, had Becky – Sam’s history partner – pair up with Garth in hopes Garth would settle Becky down, which actually had the opposite effect. Thus, Castiel was now Sam’s history partner. Of course. Well, at least the classes were consistent, and he didn’t have to meet another new person.

“Hey,” Sam greeted him as he sat at their table that was near the back. “I’m glad you’re my partner. Becky is super annoying, and we can breeze through these essays now.”

And breeze through them they did. Sam had already read the chapter everyone else was currently reading, so they answered all the questions, wrote the two short essays corresponding with the chapter, and completed the worksheet within twenty-five minutes. Rachel’s face of surprise that they finished so quickly – especially since she thought Sam was going to have to help Castiel peddle through the material – was enough make Castiel not so annoyed about the AP classes.

When they returned to their table, Sam began reading the next chapter, and Castiel continued doodling, thinking about what to do for his art project. He thought about razor blades, which were important to him and currently unavailable to him, but he was having a bit of a challenge how to represent them without blatantly telling everyone that not only did he harm himself, but that it was very important to him that he did.

He began doodling droplets that could be either rain or blood when a “Psst” got his attention.

The girl sitting in front of him, Ruby he believed her name was, was looking at him. She was wearing a really low-cut V-neck, red that matched her lipstick, and a very short skirt presumably to elongate her legs, which were, in Castiel’s opinion, elongated enough with her heels.

“Castiel, right?”

“Yes.”

“Are you gay?” she asked.

Castiel knew what she was going to ask as soon as “are you” was out of her mouth. Her face was twisted in excited anticipation, clearly on the edge of getting some solid gossip.

“What the fuck, Ruby?” Sam accused next to him. Though Castiel appreciated the sudden back-up, he didn’t need it. Coming out at his old high school had been a long, annoyed, and painful process. He was used to the slurs, judgment and disgust; quite frankly, he was disgusted with himself enough to not want it reflected on someone else’s face, especially not from someone whom he’d seen flirt with a total of five guys already today.

There was no telling what look he had on his face as he slowly leaned forward, arms crossed on the desk, but it was enough to change the air, making both Ruby and Sam move a little away from him.

“Let me put it this way, honey. I like cock almost as much as you obviously do.”

Ruby actually flinched as if she’s been slapped. She gaped at him for a moment, like she was trying to come up with something to say, but before she can, Rachel called out, “Turn around, Ruby. I want you doing your own work.”

Castiel relaxed once she turned back around, but Sam was stiff. Castiel looked over at him to find Sam pressing his fist to mouth, face red, as he was trying not to laugh. Sam took a deep breath to calm himself, then returned Castiel’s gaze.

“I like you, man. Did you see Ruby’s face? That was fucking beautiful.”

Noting that Sam apparently really didn’t like Ruby, he gave him a small smile and said, “Anytime.”

The rest of the class passed quietly. Castiel continued to think about his art project, and Sam continued to read, though he was constantly interrupted by texts on his phone. When the bell rang, Ruby all but ran from the door, making Sam laugh again.

Castiel felt a little guilty at that. He didn’t mean to slut-shame her, but he also really didn’t want to be bullied or whatever. Maybe it would blow over.

“So, what are the rest of your classes?” Sam asked as they made their way out the door.

“Uh, Current Events, Chemistry, and Weight Training.”

“Oh cool,” Sam smiled. “I’m in Current Events. Are you heading there now, or do you have it later?”

“Now.”

“Sweet! Then we have like, half our classes together.”

“It would appear so. This is a very small school.”

Sam chuckled. “And a very small town.”

Castiel didn’t respond to that. This whole small town thing was going to take some getting used to.

He walked with Sam to their class, surprised when Sam stopped and waited for Castiel at his locker so he politely did the same for Sam, and as Sam went to take his seat, Castiel dutifully stood at the front of the room and waited for their teacher.

Sam received a high five from and sat next to the boy in homeroom who agreed with Castiel’s Will Smith assessment, and he thought it was also the same boy Gabe was texting. He and the other boy who sat beside him in homeroom sat in the back. In front of them sat Charlie, Kevin, and a boy with blonde hair underneath a cappy’s hat. What was odd about their placement was that no one sat around them. The rest of the students were filed away up at the front, a row of empty desks separating them.

As Castiel looked around the room, he quickly understood why. On one side of the whiteboard was a billiard board with red paper pinned to it with an elephant and tally marks on it. On the other side of the whiteboard was the same, but with blue paper and a donkey, and sadly, far less tally marks.

They were divided between Republican and Democrats. And judging by the rich-kid apparel the kids in the front wore, Castiel thought he could guess which group was which, despite him usually cringing at stereotypes.

This was going to be an interesting class.

“Alright, alright, settle down people,” a short man with brown hair called as he walked into the classroom. “Ah, you must be Castiel.”

He nodded.

“Well, we don’t have books in this class, but you will probably need a bigger notebook,” he said, smiling and gesture towards Castiel college rule notebook.

Castiel nodded again.

“Well, I’m Mr. Shurley, some students call me Chuck, it’s really up to you. Class,” he turned to face them, “This is Castiel. Castiel, how about you tell us someth-“

“I’m a liberal.”

The group in the back busted out in applause, and the students in the front groaned.

“Ha, very well,” Chuck grinned at him. “Go forth and join your brethren!”

“Come on, let’s make room for him,” Charlie cheered, and the whole group got up and changed their formation so that Castiel was placed in the middle, between Sam and the boy in blue from homeroom, Charlie in front of him. Castiel became a little self-conscious, particularly since this left the other boy from homework dangling on his own at the end, but just as Chuck started the class, someone came running in.

“Sorry! Sorry! I’m here. I apologize.”

“It’s alright, Gadreel. Take your seat.”

As Gadreel made his way towards their group, he spotted Castiel. “Oh. I see we have a new addition. Hello, I’m Gadreel.” He waved from where he paused.

“And we all know who Castiel is, so shut up and sit down,” the other boy from homeroom said, patting the seat in front of him. Gadreel gave Castiel a polite nod and sat.

“So!” Chuck began, clapping his hands together once and leaning against his desk. “Once again, for what feels like the millionth time in my lifetime, Congress is arguing about abortion, more specifically about Planned Parenthood.”

“We need to close their doors!” someone up front yelled.

“Now, now…”

The Republicans began talking over each other, immediately defending the current administration.

Castiel leaned a little to Sam and asked, “Really?”

He smirked, “Every damn day.”

Castiel flopped back in his seat. “This is going to be a long semester.”

The blue shirt boy from homeroom clapped his shoulder. “Buckle up.”

“Alright, calm down!” Chuck soothed the whiny brats in the front. “We aren’t talking about past administrations. We’re talking current events. We’ve all been over the studies and statistics on this particular issue last week, and Castiel – I assume from what your other teachers have told me, you most likely already know them as well?” Chuck looked at him with an expectant and hopeful expression. When Castiel nodded, he beamed proudly at him. “Excellent! So, let’s begin our debates, and Raphael… let’s remember to keep the debates about the issues at hand.” He sent a warning look to a boy in high-priced polo shirt.

Charlie was the first to speak, “To get rid of Planned Parenthood and making it super hard for a woman to get an abortion greatly increases to the risk of her health - “

“Not if she would keep her legs closed,” snapped Ruby from the front.

Anger flared up inside Castiel. Is the slut he slut-shame really slut-shaming pregnant women?

“Really, Ruby?” he found himself saying. “I do not believe you are in any position to make such accusatory remarks. Or do I have to remind you of our last discussion on the topic?”

There were slow hums a “ooohhh”s around the class while the Liberals all snorted, some throwing their hands up to their mouths in an attempt not to laugh.

“Alright, settle down,” Chuck demanded from the front, but the look he gave Castiel was almost a thankful one. Castiel didn’t doubt Ruby often hit from below the belt.

“As I was saying,” Charlie continued, naming off several health risks of not just pregnancy but what could happen to women who couldn’t afford an abortion without going through programs such as Planned Parenthood and go other routes. Then she began naming off all the vastly various other things Planned Parenthood did that benefited thousands of women, trying to prove that closing it down over one thing they offer was ridiculous.

“That’s the point,” said Raphael, turning to glare at Charlie. “Something has to force these women to stop killing babies.”

“Killing babies,” sneers the other boy from homeroom. “How dramatic, Raphael. You should try out for theater.”

“Stuff it, Crowley.”

“Careful,” Chuck warned from the front.

“What I mean is,” Raphael pushed on, “it’s a sin that our tax dollars are paying for.”

Again, anger flared through Castiel. Oh, he knew all about sin, having been the product of it, and after having seen Raphael out of the window during his English class sneaking off to smoke what looked like both weed and cigarettes, as well as taking some sips of a flask, an old wound started opening up.

“A sin.” Castiel fixed his gaze on Raphael, causing the boy to freeze under it. “Before you start dictating and making decisions about someone else’s body and life against their will – which, by the way, is a sin – maybe you should remember that, while laws have been put into place to prevent you from smoking and drinking of your own free will at your age, you still do it anyway. Both breaking the law, and committing a sin. I would strongly suggest you endorse your own religious laws by actually living by them instead of condemning strangers to live by them and allowing yourself a pass.”

Raphael looked like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar, and the whole classroom was silent. So Castiel continued.

“Furthermore, if we are using your religion in our debate, shall I remind you that part of love thy neighbor, and loving the sinner but hating the sin, is that you treat others with kindness, respect, and charity. This includes allowing them to safely do something they would do regardless instead of forcing them to go to back channels and increasing all probability of them hurting themselves. If you are to use your religion - Raphael, was it? - then by your Holy Book, closing down Planned Parenthood and other organization like it would be, in God’s eyes, a sin.”

“But-…” a blonde girl in the front weakly tried to protest, but Castiel pressed on.

“Lastly, by closing these organizations that do so much more than just abortions, you are taking away much needed and charitably given resources to literally thousands of, what you would call, sisters in Christ. So, in your God’s eyes, by doing this, you are not only sinning, you are also breaking a commandment. Are you prepared to face your God and answer for your sins by supporting this? Or, better yet, why don’t we keep Planned Parenthood open to help keep _you_ from sinning.”

There’s a beat of silence while Raphael and Castiel stared blades at each other, and then Charlie stood and yelled, “Take that, bitches!” and imitated dropping a microphone.

Immediately, the rest of Liberals jump on the path Castiel had just carved, bringing up all the studies and reasons why these organizations should stay open, and using the Republicans continued arguments against them instead of replying with their own arguments. Slowly, the Republicans started to lose momentum, and then fewer and fewer argued at all.

“Okay, everyone. It’s time.”

They voted, and the entire class besides Raphael and Ruby voted to keep Planned Parenthood open, causing an extra tally mark to be made on the blue billiard board.

“You,” Crowley pointed at him, “are useful.”

“Glad to be of service,” Castiel mumbled as Chuck started assigning research for the next vote.


	3. I made a crude and inappropriate joke.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel’s eyes narrowed further. “You’re being bullied.”
> 
> Garth shrugged. “I’m easy target.” He gestured toward Benny and Dean. “Friends help. But they can’t follow me around everywhere.”
> 
> Castiel nodded. “Who?”
> 
> “Oh, just the usual - “ Garth tried to wave it off again.
> 
> “Who?” Castiel asked sternly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW:  
> mentions of bullying  
> mentions of depression symptoms

Dean thought he might be in love. He didn’t know why he never thought to use their damn religious excuses against them, but he didn’t know the Bible that much anyway. What was more impressive than actually winning a vote against those ignorant twats was the way Castiel did it. He had never met someone who could shut either Ruby or Raphael up, let alone someone who could shut them _both_ up.

Apparently, religion and sexual judgment were sore spots for Castiel, because other than those two times he told them off, he was just the regular quiet, indifferent guy Sam described him as.

“My mom and aunt are religious,” Kevin piped up once the class started breaking out in conversation a few minutes before the bell rang. “I don’t know why I never thought to throw their arguments back at them.”

“Are you religious, Castiel?” asked Charlie.

“Decidedly not,” he answered, picking at the side of his notebook and glancing at the clock.

“Oh, sorry. I just thought since you obviously know that stuff…” she trailed off, but when Castiel didn’t pick up the thread, Crowley leered, “She wants to know how you’re so knowledgeable in Christianity.”

Castiel looked up, first at Crowley, then Charlie, apparently seizing her up a bit. He shrugged and said, “My father’s a preacher.”

“Oh, that blows,” provided Benny, but again, Castiel didn’t pick up the conversation. So, after a moment of awkward silence, the rest of them began talking around Castiel, providing space for him to join even though he was apparently done with the whole thing. When the bell rang, he got up and left without glancing back.

“He’s chatty,” mused Crowley.

“Eh,” said Sam as they started towards the door. “It’s his first day. He might just be shy.”

“I don’t know,” Benny said. “He didn’t look shy to me. Just bored.”

“He’s a tough nut, but we’ll crack him,” smiled Charlie. “After all, he’s clearly an outcast like the rest of us. And after telling off both Ruby and Raphael, I doubt anyone will want anything to do with him. We can’t let the poor boy go around friendless.”

“Speak for yourself,” Crowley rolled his eyes and headed down the hallway.

By time Dean got to his chemistry class, Castiel was already up at the front, waiting. Dean smiled at him as he passed, but Castiel only gave a polite nod back. Mrs. Midsomer was late, as usual, and it took a moment to quiet the class.

“Okay, everyone, meet Castiel Novak if you haven’t already. Castiel, would you like to introduce yourself?”

“You already have,” Castiel said.

She smiled patiently at him, “Tell us something about yourself that we don’t know.”

“Uh… I don’t like slime, so if we’re assigned to make it in here, I will not be participating.”

Everyone chuckled, and Midsomer looked like she was prepared for an answer like that. Maybe the teachers gossiped just as much as the kids.

“Dually noted, Mr. Novak. Well, we’re officially odd numbered now, so, people, who would like to be Mr. Novak’s lab partner, and who would like to work alone?”

“I would enjoy working alone,” Castiel said immediately, but Midsomer shook her head.

“I hear you fly through your work. I’m thinking maybe a partner will slow you down and help you catch up.”

Castiel looked like he was physically stopping himself from rolling his eyes. Apparently Midsomer wasn’t nearly as impressed as Chuck had been.

“I’ll be his partner,” Dean piped up.

“And I’ll work alone,” Gordon said from across the room. Midsomer nodded in agreement. Gordon got up and moved to an empty table in the back, and Bela next to Dean took Gordon’s old seat next to Becky. That’ll be an interesting pair.

Midsomer handed Castiel his textbook, and Castiel trekked his way back and sat beside Dean.

“Howdy, partner.”

“Hello.”

“I would give you the lay of the land, but I’m guessing you know all this shit already?”

“Depends. What chapter are you guys on?”

“Uh… two, I think.”

Dean watched as Castiel opened his book and skimmed the first two chapters.

“Unfortunately, yes, I do already know this. Why is your school so underfunded? Judging by the amount of students with wealthy parents, you’d think there would be enough donations to provide you with a better education. Not that,” Castiel quickly back-peddled, “I’m judging your education - “

“Nah, man, I get it” Dean smiled. “You ain’t wrong. But not for nothing, I ain’t exactly a scholar, so I don’t really give a shit.”

Castiel nodded and turned to, not his chemistry notebook, but his Current Events one, Dean noticed, where he flipped back to the page he wrote down assignments on and continued his doodle. About ten minutes into the lecture, Dean gave into his curiosity and peaked over.

It was a drawing of Donald Trump shoving a giant cross down Uncle Sam’s throat.

Dean barked a loud and obnoxious laugh making everyone jump.

“Something funny, Mr. Winchester?” Midsomer asked in a sharp tone.

“Yeah, but trust me, you don’t want to know,” he answered vaguely, eyeing her cross necklace.

“Would it be okay with you, Mr. Winchester, if I returned to the lesson?”

“I mean, if you have to.” That earned a few giggles around the class.

“Perhaps we’d have a better chance at a peaceful lesson without you here? Especially if you’re going to continue to disturb - “

“It’s my fault, ma’am,” Castiel spoke up. “I made a crude and inappropriate joke. It will not happen again. Please, continue.”

She narrowed her eyes at Castiel, smirking as though she was right about something, and continued her lecture.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Castiel said quietly beside him. “I shouldn’t be doing this in class. I didn’t mean to distract you.”

“Dude, if you keep making hilarious drawings like that, feel free to distract me all you want.”

Castiel eyed him for a moment, like he wanted to say something, but then shut his notebook and turned his eyes to the front. Dean looked back up front as well, the image of his drawing making him have to bite his lip to keep from smiling.

Midsomer eventually ended the lecture and passed out worksheets for everyone. The first was practice equations; the second was instructions for their lab.

True to Sammy’s report, Castiel finished his first worksheet in record time. By time Dean finished the first two questions, to be exact. The lab was a partner assignment, so Castiel shifted in his stool and seemed to politely wait for Dean to finish. It looked like Castiel was hesitating about entertaining himself with his drawing since it caused such a commotion.

After Dean got to the fifth question, he felt stupidly embarrassed.

“Sorry, man,” he whispered. “Chemistry is definitely not my strong suit.”

“It’s quite alright.”

Dean grunted his thanks and went back to work.

Five minutes and only one question later, Castiel asked, “Would you like some help? No offense to Mrs. Midsomer, but she definitely took the complicated route in explaining these.”

“Yeah?” Dean looked around. Midsomer, per usual, was now at her desk and texting on her phone. Others have begun talking among themselves, not paying too much attention to their work. “Uh, yeah, sure. That’d be great.”

“Let’s start back at question one. You see this element here…”

Dean had gotten most of the questions he answered wrong, but with Castiel’s explanations – which made _so_ much more sense than Midsomer’s – Dean was able to answer the last fifteen questions easily. When Castiel checked them, they were all right, and Dean beamed in pride.

“You’re awesome,” he said.

Castiel did a double-take to Dean like he wasn’t sure if he heard right, but then refocused on the lab. He let Dean take the lead, applying what he had learned, and only had to correct him twice. It was the best he had done yet in that class, and they were the only ones who were able to do the lab correctly. Midsomer seemed super annoyed about that, but didn’t comment.

“I don’t think she likes you,” Dean whispered as everyone got ready for the bell.

Castiel shrugged. “I don’t like her, so I guess that’s fair.”

“You don’t, do you?” Dean teased.

“I get the feeling she’s one of those teachers who throw darts at pictures of her students.”

Dean chuckled. “Hell, I’d bet money on it.”

When the bell rang, Dean expected he and Castiel to make their way out of class together, but it seemed the thought didn’t cross Castiel’s mind. He was up and out the door without looking back.

Trying not to take it personally, Dean threw all his books in his locker, packed his bag with all his homework he knew good and well he probably wouldn’t do, and made his way to his last class.

Weight Training was a fucking joke. Coach Pitts couldn’t give two shits what his students did. Once a week they ran laps, and as long as everyone could lift even just five pounds more than they did at the beginning, they’d get an A.

He met Benny and Garth in the locker room and joked around as they changed. By this time, word about Castiel being a gay liberal who was, apparently, a Satanist or so Benny had heard, not many people were keen on finding out more about him. As expected, the excitement of new gossip had started dying down, and Dean just hoped Castiel’s week would get better because of it. Dude looked exhausted.

He was so caught up laughing about Raphael’s face, Benny and Dean re-telling the epic beat down that Raphael had deserved for oh, so many years, that he, nor it seemed any of the others, even noticed an addition to the locker room.

“I wonder what commandment it would be breaking…” Garth said.

“Thou shall not steal,” said a gravel voice from behind them. They all whipped around to see Castiel, dressed in shorts and a plain gray tee. He didn’t seem angry, or, well, anything having overheard them talking about him. Hell, he probably spent the whole time Benny and Dean were updating Garth changing beside them. Benny and Dean traded glances of oh-shit-we-were-caught, but Garth just beamed.

“You’re Castiel? Well, hello! I’m glad to know you!” He bounced over to Castiel with his hand out, seemingly taking Castiel aback.

“Um… Yes? Hello.”

“I’m Garth. ‘Course, you already know Dean and Benny. Hey, good job shutting Raphael up. I’m so glad he got his.”

Garth was smiling bright and stupid up at Castiel, but Castiel narrowed his eyes, assessing Garth critically. After a moment of scrutiny that would have a normal person squirming but didn’t faze Garth one bit, he said, “If you don’t mind my asking, how did you get that bruise?” He pointed at the bruise on Garth’s cheek.

Both Dean and Benny stiffen. They knew how, everyone did. Garth was the favorite punching bag of all those rich dickwad jocks, and their group worked hard to try to protect him. They didn’t always succeed.

“Oh this?” Garth waved it off. “Happened when I was shoved in a locker. I’ve had worse.”

Castiel’s eyes narrowed further. “You’re being bullied.”

Garth shrugged. “I’m easy target.” He gestured toward Benny and Dean. “Friends help. But they can’t follow me around everywhere.”

Castiel nodded. “Who?”

“Oh, just the usual - “ Garth tried to wave it off again.

“Who?” Castiel asked sternly.

“Just, y’know. Raphael and all them.”

Castiel considered him a moment, opened his mouth as though to say something but decided better of it. Instead, he just nodded and gestured towards the door. “After you.”

Garth seemed relieved the subject was being dropped. “Let me show you around! The weight room is pretty cool, but we don’t really do anything…”

His voice trailed off as he and Castiel left the locker room.

“That was weird,” Benny stated. “You think we gotta worry ‘bout him?”

“Worry? Nah. I actually think Garth just got a new ally.”

“There’s something off ‘bout him, though.”

Dean thought about it. Yeah, something was a little off. But how could there not be with a guy who didn’t seem to care about anything, was sarcastic and rude, and who apparently didn’t smile or laugh at all.

“He’s weird, so what? He doesn’t like Raphael, and he’s being nice to Garth. At worst, he might just stay out of the way.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Benny said.

Castiel and Garth spent the entire class together, Garth showing Castiel how each machine worked, and Castiel politely correcting him on every single one. When class was over, Garth continued to chat to a silent Castiel, but Castiel listened and seemed to be analyzing the boy the whole time. They only paused in conversation when Castiel went into one of the changing stalls to change. Dean was a little disappointed at Castiel apparently being body shy.

…

The next month was pretty much the same as that first day, and Dean still found Cas endlessly interesting. Cas didn’t speak to anyone during homeroom, even though Crowley and Dean moved over to sit next him. Sam reported that Cas continued to not pay attention in class, just doing his homework instead, and still finished and did better than everyone else. He continued to basically re-teach everything to Dean in chemistry, and to Midsomer’s great annoyance, Dean and Cas were making perfect marks. Charlie reported Cas made a beautiful color-pencil drawing, but she just couldn’t understand how a broken razor drowning in water on a bathroom counter was “something important to him”. She asked, and he gave a vague, nothing answer. She said their teacher seemed to get it, so she didn’t push it.

Personally, Dean thought Cas was being sarcastic, and that his small beard he kept re-growing, then shaving, then re-growing, was the “important thing”.

In Current Events, Cas continued to win them votes. Raphael seemed to purposely push Cas’ buttons, Dean supposed he was trying to get him so angry he’d crack, but it never happened. Instead the result was Cas making a stern but extremely compelling argument, changing a lot of minds, and then Cas wrapping himself into his shell as he doodled a caricature relating to whatever topic they had debated about. He also provided better research to their team than they ever had, making each of their arguments significantly stronger. By the end of Cas’ first month, they were tied with the Red.

In Weight Training, Dean and Benny basically lost their friend to Cas. Those two spent the entire class _actually_ working out, Cas assisting Garth, and according to Garth, teaching him several defensive moves. About two weeks after Cas arrived, Garth got to put it all to good use. Zach cornered Garth in the bathroom, and Zach was the one who left with a bloody nose, not Garth. The dickwad jocks had parents with a lot of money, some of them lawyers, so Garth never reported them when he was bullied, but Zach didn’t waste a minute. Dean was at lunch when Garth was called to the office, and Sam reported that Cas left for the bathroom when it happened and didn’t come back until the end of their history class. Garth wouldn’t tell them anything, just confirmed that Cas got to the office before Garth. Garth never got in trouble.

Despite all this, Cas just never fucking cracked.

They all invited him to several things, but he always declined unless someone invited him to something in front of Gabe. Gabe would give Castiel a pointed look and accept the invitation for him, pushing him out of the shop and giving him money saying it was all on him. Because of this, Cas attended a dinner at the Roadhouse with Dean, Sam, and Charlie, bowling with Dean, Kevin, and Garth, and a movie with Charlie and Kevin. He was extra quiet throughout all of them, and looked thoroughly exhausted by the end.

As the others began to accept Cas as their grumpy, introverted friend, Sam and Dean started to suspect differently, and shamelessly discussed it at length. They eventually stopped talking about it in front of the others, though, who just dismissed them, more annoyed each time.

But Benny, who was still growing suspicious of Cas but would never say anything, was right. Something was off.

First, it was Cas’ appearance.

He was always clean, yeah, and wore just what everyone else did. But he never seemed to brush his hair, and when Sam witnessed him spilling food on a shirt at lunch, he said Cas at first looked like the world just ended, then carried on the rest of the day, as Dean could attest, as though it was the last thing he cared about. Sam had suggested he go to the bathroom and rub it with water and soap, but Sam said Cas sighed and said it didn’t matter. And that was just it… Cas acted as though his appearance just didn’t matter. Which, okay, it didn’t, who cares, but add it on top of Cas always looking so exhausted, the bags under his eyes, and him being so pale?

Then it was how Gabe always accepted invitations for him.

They tried to point it out to the others, but Charlie said Gabe, the overly extrovert if there ever was one, was probably just helping push Cas into being social. Crowley said it was because Cas secretly hated them but would be friendless without them, which was something Gabe wouldn’t stand for – being friends with almost everyone in town. Kevin said he thought Cas had a social disorder or something, judging by the way it had became a habit now for Kevin to call and leave a voicemail about an Art class question, and Cas would text the answer back to him immediately. Kevin said he just knew Cas was avoiding speaking on the phone, and he chucked it up to that.

Then there was the not doing things, or taking forever to do them.

Everything seemed like a chore to Cas, even something like getting up to get forgotten chemistry goggles or his forgotten towel across the weight room. Cas would sigh heavily, and actually take a minute before getting up to retrieve it, like he actually had to work up the energy to walk across the fucking room. Sam even said that one day Cas sat down in lunch before he got his food, apparently so into his thoughts he forgot about it. When the others joined and he smelled the food, he remembered, but Sam said it was like he just couldn’t bring himself to walk all the way over, get food, and come back. Even though his stomach growled once. Sam gave him half his sandwich and didn’t ask him about it.

For that month, Cas continued to be basically quiet, odd, tired, and just simply didn’t seem to connect with anyone. He looked sometimes like he wanted to, but it was like he just didn’t have it in him. After a couple weeks, their friends stopped trying to connect with him. Instead, to them, he was the odd one out of the outcasts, the one always welcomed and in the group, but not someone who was going to let them all the way in.

Sam and Dean agreed it made Cas seem like an accessory to their group and agreed it wasn’t okay. Something was going on with Cas, and as much as he continued to push everyone away, he deserved more than to be the badass, smartass trinket of the group.

Sam and Dean were just beginning to add up all Cas’ oddities and start to bring up a plan to try to make him feel safe and welcomed (Sam’s guess as to why Cas was this way, and Dean didn’t have a better answer), when Cas was called out of school from Current Events. When Charlie asked if everything was okay, Cas just said it was a follow-up doctor’s appointment. At her concerned look, he waved her off and said it was nothing.

And then Cas didn’t come to school for the rest of the week.

Nor answered his phone. Nor was working at the joke shop. It was like he disappeared, and when asked, Gabe just said he was sick, and he was sure he’d get back to them soon, nothing in his façade cracking except when, as Sam and Dean spent most of Friday afternoon and evening at his shop to watch for clues, Gabriel would disappear on the hour, every hour and come back looking relieved each and every time.

Sam weakly suggested that Cas was actually sick – it was a doctor’s appointment after all – and Gabe was just relieved that Cas was getting better.

But as Dean pointed out, Cas said “follow-up” appointment, that he didn’t look ill – or any more ill or pale than normal – and that if he was sick with the flu or something, Gabe wouldn’t just be checking on him, he’d be laughing and picking jokes about the whole thing.

Sam agreed.

Dean tried convincing himself over that weekend that they didn’t really know Cas, that he hadn’t let any one of them in, and why the fuck should he care?

But something was wrong. Something had happened. Something made him move here. And he’d be willing to bet money it had something to do with his absence. Cas had been protecting and helping Garth, helping Dean in chemistry, helping Charlie and Kevin in art, even helped Sam in English once. He seemed to genuinely care about them, even if it was just a little. Dean really wanted to consider him a friend even if apparently, Cas didn’t consider them friends. Something was wrong, there was something huge Cas wasn’t sharing, and it didn’t just worry Dean - it was beginning to piss him off.


	4. Just... try?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Where the hell have you been?” Sam asked, throwing up his arms. Before Dean could answer, Sam’s expresion went from annoyed to bitchface. “Did you really make me wait twenty minutes so you could get lucky?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another huge shout out to my beautiful beta!
> 
> TW:  
> depression  
> depressive thoughts  
> self-deprecating thoughts  
> mentions of self harm  
> coping with anger

Gabriel thought Castiel’s first month was a success. Or, on the road to success. Which was why he looked so happy for Castiel. That was until Gabriel picked Castiel up for his follow-up appointment.

And Castiel had a worse depression score than he did last month.

He saw a flash of panic on Gabriel’s face before he schooled himself, and Dr. Tan seemed to catch both their reactions, whatever the hell Castiel’s was. She spoke what was probably words of wisdom and comfort that Castiel didn’t listen to. She increased the dosage of a lot of his medication, and then they silently drove to his therapy appointment.

He had been going to see Missouri every Wednesday after school, and just as Gabriel predicted, by time they were done with tests, another blood draw and such, it was time for his appointment. They were actually a little late.

Missouri didn’t seem fazed at all. Gabriel waited in the waiting room, and Castiel followed Missouri to her office.

It was nice, Castiel could admit. A big room, half of which held her desk, some file cabinets, and hanging degrees and pictures. The other half was for her patients: armchairs, a couch, a coffee table. It was pleasant enough. But today, it was annoying. Everything was annoying. Everything… fucking sucked.

Castiel sat on the edge of the couch as usual, shaking his leg, elbows on his knees, looking anywhere but Missouri.

“Go ahead and say it, sugar.”

Castiel still wasn’t sure if he liked her term of endearment or not, and he knew it probably wasn’t professional. It did, however, make him better about opening up, which he supposed was the point.

“My depression score was worse than last month,” he said bluntly.

“Oh, sugar… I’m sorry. How did that effect your medication?”

Castiel found himself pacing most of their session and almost yelled himself hoarse. Missouri never let him think inside his head, he had to think out loud – voicing every thought, no matter what it was.

He was upset, at himself, at everyone, at everything.

He felt like a piece of shit. Worse than that. All the _money_ alone Gabriel had spent on Castiel, and he’s _worse_?

He tried to blame Gabriel, tell himself that until Gabriel showed up, everything was fine.

Missouri quickly reminded him that before Gabriel showed up, most days Castiel was waking up, alone, going to school, alone, spending all day, alone without friends, coming home, alone, eating dinner, alone, and then “carving up your stomach” until he felt okay enough to sleep and repeat it all.

He wanted to argue. He tried.

“Sugar, listen. In one month, you uprooted your life, reached out for help, and started over. Even for someone without depression, it would be stressful. Your new depression score is not unusual nor out of the blue. A lot has happened. You basically switched brothers/care givers who are polar opposites, moved across the country, quit cutting - “

He suppressed a wince and the guilt that everyone who knew about his cutting thought he had quit, though he wasn’t sure Missouri believed him.

“ - you’ve made friends –“

“I haven’t made friends.”

“Excuse me?”

“They aren’t my friends.”

“What, Dean, Sam, Charlie? All of them?”

“Yes.”

“What makes you say that?”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “The only times Charlie or Kevin speak to me, we end up with me helping them in art class. Dean, I help with chemistry, and every time we ‘hang out’ he thanks me for my ‘tutoring’. Garth is finally protecting himself and the bullying has lessened, but he doesn’t talk to me outside of Weight Training. After all of this… the others couldn’t care less about me. Them, they’re just polite and friendly to me because I’m useful. It isn’t friendship. I’m an asset.”

“And Sam?”

“Huh?”

“What about Sam?”

Castiel shrugged. “Sam asks so many questions, it’s like I’m an exhibit. I think he basically cares and he’s basically a good person, but I just can’t see his motives. I don’t trust it.”

“Okay,” Missouri said, nodding, “to you, you have no friends. You’re angry, at yourself and because of yourself.”

Castiel nodded.

“Well, be as angry as you want, sugar, but no one else is angry with you.”

Castiel rubbed the heels of his hands against his closed eyes and then scrubbed his hair with his hands.

He began to pace again and said, “Missouri, I’m worse than I was when I came here.”

“And why do _you_ think that is?”

“Because I’m a fucking piece of shit who’s a worse piece of shit than Gabriel realized.”

There was silence for a moment as he paced, and then Missouri said, “Go on.”

“I’m a burden. You should have seen Michael’s face when we left. I’m going to leave Gabriel looking worse. Even the group – or the Blue – or whatever the fuck they call themselves, are going to be left the same, regardless if they’re my friends or not. I’m worthless. I’m a waste. I’m obviously beyond getting better… I’m cursed. I’m going to be this way my entire life. Everyone needs to leave me alone before I do serious damage, like I apparently did to Michael.”

He swallowed around the lump in his throat, sitting back down and letting his forehead rest against the heels of his hands, unwilling to look up at Missouri.

“Castiel… You are at the very beginning of your recovery. If you want to get better, you got a long, hard road ahead of you. Do you want to get better, Castiel?”

He nodded, not really believing there was a better.

“Then this is what I’m going to do,” she said, getting up and moving to her desk, the change from gently-listening to action-making Castiel’s head snap up. “I’m going to write a doctor’s note to get you out of school for the rest of the week. It’s just two days, so it should be okay.”

Castiel sighed, thinking a few days in his pajamas and doing nothing would be wonderful right now.

“But you won’t like why,” Missouri smirked as she scribbled on some papers. “You won’t go to school, but you won’t be doing nothing either. I want you to spend these days coming up with exactly who you want to be. What you picture as what you want to be. Whether it’s ten years from now or yesterday. Picture what you want to look like. What you want your boyfriend to look like. What you want to be doing or what your grades look like. Picture your _near_ perfect life, no matter the stage, while remembering there is no such thing as perfect.” She handed him the excuse slips and sat back down in one of her armchairs. “Just one condition… You are not, no matter what, allowed to think about suicide or what the world would be like if you weren’t alive. Do you understand me?”

Castiel nodded, feeling more overwhelmed than he had in years.

She walked Castiel out to the waiting room where Gabriel was waiting, and informed Gabriel of her assignment. She told Gabriel to check on Castiel often, but otherwise leave him alone. She told him the conditions, and instead of Castiel seeing Missouri once a week on Wednesday after school, they changed it to twice a week – every Tuesday and Thursday – a little earlier which made Castiel have to leave Weight Training halfway through on those days. Missouri assured them she would get the school’s approval, and Castiel made a mental note to make sure Garth would be okay with it.

So, from Thursday through Sunday, Castiel stayed in his pajamas, refusing to even shower when Gabriel suggested it, and worked on what Missouri wanted. Gabriel would check him every hour, on the hour, and brought him his meals. Meanwhile, Castiel spent most of that time in bed, trying to quiet all the self-deprecating voices, and eventually making a list for Missouri of who he wanted to be.

 By Monday, Castiel was pissed.

…

Cas returned to school that Monday, and he looked like absolute shit. His hair which had continued to grow since he moved here a month ago was everywhere, and a rough beard was growing out again. He was wearing jeans, a plain black t-shirt, but the way he carried himself, he looked on edge and more exhausted than Dean had yet to see him.

“My god,” Crowley said, “you were sick, weren’t you?”

Cas only grunted in response, and he immediately opened and began shading in his sketch book.

Both Crowley and Dean ignored Cas per usual as he colored a recent drawing of what looked like an angel falling from Heaven, and they went about this normal routine of Crowley and Dean talking as Cas drew until Crowley excused himself to use the toilet.

After a couple of moments in silence, Dean asked, “So, Cas, how’re you feeling?”

Cas, who was thoroughly engrossed in coloring in black wings that looked to be burning off, paused and took a moment to seemingly let the question wash over him.

Going back to his art, he answered, appearing more focus on his drawing than the words falling out of his mouth, “I really don’t know. I have an increase in medication and appointments, but Gabriel seems unaffected. I wish I could bring in the money he’s spending on me, and I’m mad at Missouri for literally making me focus on day-dreams that will never happen when I should be thinking of ways to bring my brother money to cover my stay. Well…” he added, pushing down hard on a white coloring pencil against the black wings he had already colored in, making a light-shading Dean never, ever could imagine but was beautiful. “That and… I don’t know. She gave both me and Gabriel hope, but it’s clear to me there isn’t any. They’re both going to hold onto it until I… I don’t know.” He moved faster with the white, like he was angry with it. “Until I fuck them up as much as I did Michael.”

“Your oldest brother?” Dean asked.

Cas seemed to realize where he was and what he was saying then. He went stiff for several long moments without looking at Dean. He didn’t reply, just gently continued his coloring until Crowley returned. Then he went to the teacher, said something no one could hear, gathered his things, and left.

Both Dean and Crowley shrugged it off. If they’ve learned anything, it’s that Cas was one moody, grumpy guy. But Dean couldn’t help but wonder who the hell Missouri was, what medication had been upped, and what appointments? It sounded to him that Cas wasn’t just sick with the flu, that he had some kind of on-going condition. He was dying to ask, to find out, but again, Cas was one moody, grumpy guy – as well as private. He hardly ever accepted invitations to hang out and never really initiated any conversation or contact.

Sam continued to muse and wonder about Cas, but Dean was beginning to just chalk it up to how the guy simply was. It was easier than being angry about not knowing. That was what he had decided after thinking about it all weekend. Mostly he wondered if Cas even liked any of them – if he was just being polite to keep the peace since obviously he was just another outcast.

As the week went on, though, it became clear to Dean that this wasn’t just the normal Cas he knew. He was significantly more withdrawn, openly snapped at them a few times, and on Wednesday straight up told Raphael in the middle of class to “go fuck yourself on that cross you love so much”, earning a shocked silence and a disappointed papa look from Chuck.

Sam was worried, and Dean was trying really hard not to be. He did at least get some insight on what was going on – Cas was clearly unhappy with whatever medical thing was going on with him and seemed to be blaming himself for it. Surely, it would pass.

The rest of their friends were pissed at Cas. He stopped helping all of them with school, downright snapping at Kevin when he tried to ask an art question for the millionth time. Dean didn’t even try to get his help in Chemistry, just kept his head down and worked the best he could. One day he was too slow on a worksheet for Cas’ liking, and Cas ripped it from his hands and literally just finished it for him. Thank the stars Midsomer didn’t notice.

By Friday, Dean had had enough. Yes, something was wrong, and yes, he could ignore it, leave it be, and just let Cas isolate himself thoroughly from everyone because why the fuck should he care? But what nagged him was that this was obviously caused by whatever medical thing was going on, and to Dean, that didn’t really make this Cas’ fault. He wanted to share what Cas said with the others, but it was Cas’ thing. By his reaction when Dean spoke, he hadn’t even noticed he was really divulging it all. So, the only thing Dean could do was confront Cas on the situation and hope for the best.

While everyone else drove and car-pooled to school, Cas walked, and Dean noticed that he usually took a short-cut through the small woods separating the high school and a strip mall. After their last class, instead of walking with Benny and Garth to the other side of the school where the parking lot was, he followed Cas– who bolted as soon as the bell rang, of course. By time Dean was outside, Cas was already entering the woods. He jogged to catch him, but only caught up with him half-way through of woods.

“Cas, man, wait!”

“Dean?” he asked, looking surprised as he turned around to face him. “What are you doing?”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

Cas narrowed his eyes. “About what?”

“About how you’ve been acting. What’s going on with you?”

“What the fuck do you care?” Cas snapped, turning back around to continue walking. Dean quickly reached out, stopping him.

“I just do, man. We all do.”

Cas snorted. “Give me a break. As long as I’m available to do your homework and win you votes, what do any of care what’s going on with me?”

Dean was shocked for a moment. Where did that come from?

“Is that what you think?”

Cas didn’t seem to want to dignify him with an answer, just cocked a challenging brow. Yeah, now Dean was angry with him too.

“Are you fucking kidding me? _You’re_ the one always pushing us away,” Dean emphasized his statement by poking Cas in the chest. “ _You’re_ the one always refusing to have an actual conversation. _You’re_ the one who never wants to hang out with us. _You’re_ the one who only ever pipes up if it’s something about school or fucking politics. We’re the ones who are constantly reaching out to you, and _you’re_ the one to always swat us away!”

Cas’ expression was unreadable as his eyes darted back and forth between Dean’s, wheels in his head clearly turning. Somehow during his little rant, Dean had stepped closer. The angry tension in the air was thick, but Dean was refusing to step back. Because he was right, damnit.

“I don’t know what the fuck happened to you to make you so fucking closed off,” Dean continued, “but don’t you dare start blaming us for it.”

“Bla- _blaming_ you?” Cas’ eyebrows shot up, but his voice sunk deeper and his eyes flared. “ _Closed off?_ When have you once asked a real question about me, not some generic small talk bullshit? When have any of you _once_ asked to hang out one-on-one instead of just expecting me to jump into a packed group outing where everyone talks to each other over me. I wasn’t even here a full _day_ before you all decided to adopt the new kid. _None_ of you made any room for me or even fucking asked. You all just expected me to just follow right along and enjoy your company without a single thought that maybe, just maybe, I’m a fucking different person than any of you and don’t fucking enjoy it. And quite frankly, _Dean,_ ” Cas spat his name out like a curse as he took a step closer, almost bumping chests, “I am just too damn tired and have too much else to worry about than to be pretend the people forcing themselves around me are my fucking _friends_.”

It was Dean’s turn to have his eyes dart back and forth from Cas’, taking all what he said in.

And damnit, the kid had a point. They had all wanted him to just pep up and join the crowd without giving him a choice in the matter or even asking if he was the join-the-crowd type. What if he hated crowds? What if he was some kind extreme introvert who would get, like, a panic attack or something? What if he actually had a social disorder like Kevin thought? The few times he did hang out with them – forced to by Gabe, he always stayed to himself and looked dead-beat tired by the end of it.

But, at the same time…

“Okay, sure, but why didn’t _you_ say anything, Cas? Huh? Why couldn’t you have just piped up and say, ‘Sorry, I don’t like big group things’. Why didn’t _you_ ever ask to hang out one-on-one? Why didn’t you even try to get us to stop or to understanding whatever-the-fuck?”

“Why didn’t you? Why didn’t it occur to you that there could be something else instead of just assuming I’m some big closed-off dick.” Cas shot back at him.

“I did, you dumbass. I just didn’t want to pry into something private and scare you the fuck away!”

There. Immediately, Cas angry face soften and the cold eyes started to warm. Dean knew he had won.

Cas didn’t seem to want to back down, though, so they stayed where they were, air thick between them, Cas’ face flickering with several different emotions as he apparently tried to find another angle. Dean felt a little proud to have beaten the King of Debates.

Then, all at once, the thick air of angry tension turned immediately sexual with one flick of Cas’ eyes from Dean’s to his lips. They were already a little out of breath from the argument, but the quick change of the air made Dean’s breath get caught in his chest.

He looked down at Cas’ lips almost as soon as Cas returned his gaze, and by time Dean looked back up at his eyes, Cas was staring at his lips again.

Dean didn’t think. He just moved, clashing their lips together. Cas responded immediately, gripping Dean’s neck and pressing their bodies together. Dean yanked at Cas’ hips, pulling them as close as possible.

Cas licked into Dean’s mouth, making him moan. He twirled his tongue around Dean’s first before guiding Dean’s tongue into his mouth. Cas pushed them back some, Dean’s back slamming against a tree, both their backpacks that hung loosely on their shoulders falling to the ground.

It took Dean no time at all to rise to attention, and with another moan, he pushed his hips forward, letting Cas know what he was doing to him. Cas growled in response, pushing his own hardness against him, causing amazing friction and tingly pleasure shooting through Dean. They worked up a good rhythm, and before Dean knew it, he was becoming a withering mess.

They couldn’t fuck out in the middle of the woods. What was he thinking? But he definitely couldn’t stop now.

Dean growled his frustration. “Cas…” he warned, voice sounding much deeper than usual and muffled by Cas’ lips. If they didn’t stop right at that moment, Dean honestly didn’t think he’d be able to at all.

Cas responded by unbuckling Dean’s belt, quickly undoing his jeans and pulling him out, jerking him off without breaking their kiss.

Dean moaned, rutting into his hand, thoughts getting scrambled by just how fucking great it felt. He definitely did not expect that kind of response. He thought Cas would back off, slow down, anything but officially trapping Dean under pleasure.

Cas paused long enough to undo his own jeans, taking both Dean and himself in his hand, moving quickly. He stopped again after a couple of stroke, making a frustrated groaned before licking his hand. Then he continued, the spit making Dean buck up. Cas moaned, finally breaking the deep kiss for good and laying his head on Dean’s shoulder. Dean licked his own hand and reached between them, joining Cas in his work. It took a few strokes, but he caught up with Cas’ rhythm and speed.

“Dean…?” His voice sounded higher than normal and almost like a question, as if he were asking if they really were doing this.

Which Dean couldn’t even begin to wrap his mind around either. Not five minutes ago, they were yelling.

“I got you, Cas,” Dean croaked out.

Cas whimpered, hips bucking and joining in their rhythm. Dean’s hips join too, and before Dean could fully comprehend it, he was reaching the edge at lightning speed.

“C-cas… I… Fuck,” was all he got out. Meanwhile, Cas _bit_ his neck, crying out unashamed and blocking the sound by Dean’s skin.

Cas came first, and feeling the vibrations of his cry directly from his mouth onto Dean’s neck, against his skin, pushed Dean over with him.

Cas’ hand fell away first, Cas laying his head onto Dean’s shoulder again. Cas was only a little bit shorter, but apparently, he was at the perfect height for Dean to comfortably be a pillow for him. Dean threw his head back to rest again the tree, calming his breath.

Eventually they came back to earth. Dean rubbed the cum off his hand onto his jeans before tucking himself back him; Cas doing vice versa. Cas didn’t look at him, just made his way to his backpack, throwing it over his shoulder as he backed away some, and shifting awkwardly on his feet while Dean finished buckling his belt. Dean picked up his backpack, shouldering it, and stood staring at Cas until Cas finally looked over.

“Stop pushing us away, Cas. We seriously just want to be your friend.” Dean shrugged and tried to smile. “Sam and I moved here little over a year ago. We know how it can be. Just… try?”

Dean wasn’t sure, but it looked like Cas blushed a little. He sighed and nodded. “I may be a coward for asking, but could you tell them for me that I’m sorry for my behavior, and I’ll try to be better?”

Dean grinned wide this time. “More than happy to. But don’t, like, try to change for us, Cas. We’ll make room for you.”

For the first time since he met Cas, Cas smiled at him fully. “Okay, Dean.”

With that, they both turned away, walking opposite directions. By time he finally got the Impala, Sam was leaning against it, looking annoyed.

“Where the hell have you been?” Sam asked, throwing up his arms. Before Dean could answer, Sam’s expression went from annoyed to bitchface. “Did you really make me wait twenty minutes so you could get lucky?”

Dean stopped dead in his tracks. “What?”

Sam pointed his own neck, gesturing towards Dean.

“What?!” Dean repeated, rushing to one of the side mirrors. Sure enough, there was Cas’ bite mark indented on his skin. It didn’t break the skin, but it would bruise. “Shit,” he whispered.

“Seriously, Dean?” Sam barked at him.

Dean held up his hands, “I’d happily wait twenty minute for you to get lucky.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe you.” He pushed Dean aside and climbed into the passenger side. Dean slowly walked to the driver’s side, mind trying to work fast. He wasn’t sure about Cas, but Dean for one wasn’t ready to jump right into another relationship. ‘Course, everything about Cas pointed to him not being the relationship type. Still, he would hate for Cas to finally consider letting them in, thinking there was something more between him and Dean, only to have Dean turn him down and ruin all that. They could fight again-… No, he didn’t need to go there. Fight. Yeah, like that was what he was thinking.

He’d let Cas take the lead, and if it seemed like Cas was expecting more or whatever, they could talk. The important thing was he wouldn’t ruin Cas’ chances with the others.

“Good news,” Dean said, sliding into the Impala. “I ran into Cas. I talked to him.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, turning on the car and pulling out of the parking space. “He pointed out we haven’t exactly been making room for him. He’s not really a group-kinda person, I guess. And none of us have really asked to hang out one-on-one, get to know him. He said he’d try if we did.”

“Okay, sounds reasonable. I’m glad someone had an actual conversation with the guy.”

Dean nodded, turning on some music.

“So, tell me, Dean. When between the bell and getting lucky did you have time to have such an in-depth conversation with Cas?” Sam’s voice sounded smug, and Dean did his best to remain innocent-looking.

“It wasn’t that in-depth, Sammy. Just a few words. A quick chat.”

“Uh huh,” said Sam, not sounding convinced. Dean just turned up the music.


	5. Hey, it if helps, it ain't stupid.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And let’s not forget your intimacy with Dean. You already crossed that line from only-in-school friends, and though you’re glad he doesn’t seem to want to pursue more, you can’t pretend it didn’t happen. That you two don’t mean a little more to each other than before.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My beta is the best in the universe. (Yes, I am the JD to her Turk.)
> 
> TW:  
> hidden depression  
> depression symptoms  
> self-depreciating thoughts  
> mentions of bullying
> 
> The reason for the title of this fic is given in this chapter.
> 
> Those who want to know more about it, see end notes.

The events in the woods only served to make Castiel feel sated and guilty. Dean was right, and it was right along the lines of everything Missouri kept trying to tell him. He just didn’t want to blame himself. Didn’t want to admit that his depression really did extend out and affect _everything_. Trying to convince himself that the depression wouldn’t be there forever, despite his life-long disorder, and that he _could_ get better was tough enough. It was just easier to think that Dean and the others only kept him around for their education instead of thinking that they might actually care. Or maybe it was the monster named depression telling him that they didn’t, that they _couldn’t_ because, come on, just look at him.

He spent a mostly sleepless night thinking over and over about what Dean had said, and Saturday mid-morning he thought about sending out a huge group text apologizing - so they _knew_ he was sorry instead of just hearing it from Dean. Though, he knew his words would be basically useless. He was the fuck up. Hell, he was fucked up. He was just a bratty piece of shit who got all pissy and took it out on all of them. He was the one who never gave them a chance.

Even worse, he didn’t really know if he wanted to give them a chance. He didn’t know if he wanted to let them peak behind the curtain and see exactly what a piece of fucking shit he was.

He didn’t have to let them see, he told himself. He didn’t deserve to have people, but they at least deserved him not being a complete asshole.

So, on Monday, he sat with Dean and Crowley in homeroom and for once, didn’t ignore them. He left his sketchbook in his locker and listened to their conversation. He didn’t participate much, but he was involved at least. In Math, he made sure to give Sam a small smile, and when he graded Sam’s classwork, he went over the ones he got wrong with him and helped him get them right. In English, when Sam tried to talk to him, he responded, kindly, and a bit more fully than his usual short and simple answers.

In Art, he moved to the other side of the table and spent the whole class going over technics with Kevin until he finally got them right, and then helped quiz Charlie on an upcoming test.

In Current Events, he made sure he was the last one in so he could smile, albeit a little forced, at the whole group to let them know he left his claws at home, and tried to be a more active participant in the debates and conversation. He even resumed tutoring Dean in Chemistry, who acted a little squirmy at first but relaxed as time went on. Castiel assumed it was because that was the first time they have been basically alone together since all that took place in the woods, and he was immensely relieved when Dean seemed okay with just letting it go.

So onward he went. Day after exhausting day.

Gabriel would wake him up, made sure he showered and got everything he needed. He would spend the day with his “friends”, making sure they were getting a proper education, listening instead of actively ignoring, and trying to be as nice and friendly as possible. After all, he really wasn’t an ass, and he didn’t want to be mean. He wasn’t a mean person. He was just… he didn’t know. Tired? Per usual. Unengaged. Uninspired. Lacking in the energy to even want to be focused on. Craving instead to tuck himself into a quiet, lonely corner and simply not have to deal with the hassle of communicating and interacting with other people. But he promised he’d try – not just to Dean, but basically to everyone. Try. Try to get better. He figured this was part of it.

At night, he’d work for a few hours, usual had dinner in his room, and just read on his phone – kindle books most of the time. He couldn’t have a TV in room per doctor’s orders to help with his sleep, but by the end of the day, he was definitely not in much of a mood to deal with bubbly, bouncing Gabriel who always interrogated him about his day.

He was trying harder on the work with Missouri. When she finally got him to admit he thought of himself as this disgusting, shitty, utter waste of space, all of the time instead of just that day, she actually asked him _why_. Why did he feel this way?

“Uh… because it’s who I am?”

He couldn’t think of any other answer. It was, well, who was he. He didn’t do anything on purpose to become this way, nor was anything done to him.

That was when Missouri for the first time looked at him with pity, which made him feel worse. She requested he watch a Ted Talk by Dr. Andrew Solomon called _The Secret We All Share_. Which he did. The only thing he got out of it was a sarcastic yay-we-are-a-society-of-depressives!

When he saw Missouri again, she pointed out something “very important” in Dr. Solomon’s message: depression isn’t a veil of sadness put over our eyes. Depression is the belief that happiness was the veil, and we’re seeing the world and ourselves truthfully for the first time.

But the truth lies.

Suddenly, he thought back to one of his favorite shows: an episode where one brother was hallucinating the devil, and the other brother told him that this, that he, is real, and his brother just had to believe it. “Make it corner stone number one, and build on it.”

Missouri was smirking at him as though she knew what he was thinking – which wasn’t unusual. Then she said, “Have a little hope, Castiel. You are not a disgusting, shitty, utter waste of space. The world isn’t gloomy; your future is bright and full of possibilities, and you aren’t doomed to a miserable life. Believe in that, sugar. Not your ‘ugly thoughts’, as you call them. Believe in that, as truth. Build on that.”

Castiel nodded, swallowing around the lump in his throat, and agreed to try.

Always, just to try.

…

“Where do you think Cas goes every Tuesday and Thursday when he leaves early?” Benny asked, watching wearily as Cas nodded his goodbye to Garth.

Dean suspected it had something to do with the whatever medical thing Cas had going on. He would bet on some kind of physical therapy if it wasn’t for the fact that Cas hit the weights hard every day without any trouble – and damn it all to hell if it wasn’t paying off either. The sweet, delicious definition of the muscles he was gaining were beginning to show through his shirts, but Dean didn’t mind the distraction one bit.

At any rate, he wasn’t going to share his medical theory with Benny because then he’d have to share with him what Cas told him that one day. Instead he just shrugged and went back to lazily pulling at a resistant band.

Garth bobbed his way up to them, grinning ear to ear. He had a bruise on his jaw, but Dean also noticed that Zach had a black eye. Garth was getting really good at defending himself, and his time dedicated to working out was paying off as well. He was still a skinny, little dude, but now he actually had some weight to throw behind his punches. It showed less on Garth’s body and more on the severity of Zach’s bruises. Raphael and the others seemed to finally back off of Garth now that he wasn’t an easy target, but Zach just couldn’t let it go. It was like Garth personally wounded his ego. Which, now that Dean thought about it, was probably what it was.

“What about you, Garth?” Benny asked. “Do you know where Cas goes when he leaves early?”

Garth shook his head. “He told me he had something that his brother is making him go to. Every Tuesday and Thursday. Asked if it was okay with me, and of course I said…” and off Garth went, telling them about their conversation in full, unnecessary detail.

Benny didn’t seem to like that answer – but honestly, Benny just didn’t seem to like or trust Cas at all. Just tolerate him for the Blue’s sake.

Honestly, Dean didn’t like that answer either because it made Cas more confusing. Something? A thing? That was extremely vague. Of course, Cas said ‘appointments’ when he accidentally let slip – appointments. Medication. A kind of something medical thing Dean already assumed.

First of all, what medical condition required two doctor appointments a week? (And of course, why didn’t he put upped medication and _doctor_ appointments together before?) Dean guessed he really was trying to make himself believe it was physical therapy if there was something medically wrong with the kid. Medication, after all, could only mean a physical problem with people their age. Right? Second, if he had something to do with his medical whatever, why would he say his brother was making him go? Wouldn’t he just simply have to go to get better? Wouldn’t he _want_ to, to get better? Why blame a brother when he made it sound like he felt so guilty over it all that one day?

For about the millionth time, Dean pondered over what in the hell was wrong with Cas.

…

Later that night while Dean and Sam were at the kitchen table – Sam doing homework and Dean munching on leftover Chinese food – Dean decided to pick Sam’s brain a little.

“Hey, what kind of medical conditions require someone to go to the doctor several times a week?” he asked, in what he hoped was a causal voice.

It worked, apparently, because Sam just shrugged nonchalantly, and said, “A lot of things. Nothing good though.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, like, with cancer you go to chemo a lot. That kind of thing. Autoimmune diseases. Blood diseases. Things like that.”

Dean gulped. Yeah, those didn’t sound good.

Sam continued, still not looking up from his papers, “And there’s mental conditions. You know if someone was schizophrenic, then there’d be multiple psych visits depending on how bad off they were.”

Dean nodded and grunted his acknowledgement, picking at his chow mien.

He thought he could safely cross cancer off the list since he was pretty sure chemo meant hair loss. Sure, Cas shed a whole hell of a lot, but it wasn’t technically hair loss.

Honestly, that was the only one he could cross off, though. Cas was pale and usually had bags under his eyes, and that could be a symptom of just about anything. He wasn’t jumpy or anything like he was hearing voices. He didn’t seem to like crowds and people very much since he still turned down invites out with the group – that could be a symptom of something mental, right? Well, no. It could just be him, or whatever.

“It would be serious, though, right? Like, that person would be out in the deep end, like seriously ill or something?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, then stopped in his writing and jerked his head up. “Why?”

Dean shrugged, trying to seem causal again, but Sam wasn’t buying it this time.

“Dean, who’s going to the doctor several times a week?”

Dean sighed. “I don’t know if that’s where he’s going. It’s just…” Dean wanted to keep Cas’ secret, confidences anyway, but if he was seriously sick or something, he needed a larger support group than just his brother. Not that he didn’t trust Gabe, but Gabe was so… Gabe. Dean wasn’t quite sure what kind of support group Gabe made in the first place, if he was honest with himself.

He continued, “Cas let slip one day that he was pissed off because of something like his dosage on his medicine was upped and something about more appointments. And how he was burdening Gabe with it or something. And he made it sound like his other brother, Michael, used to help take care of him but for some reason can’t anymore because of something Cas did? Or, because of whatever’s wrong with him, maybe? I got the feeling that’s why he moved here. And since then, every Tuesday and Thursday, he leaves early from our last class. Garth said that Cas just said it had to do with something his brother was making him go to.” He shrugged again.

Sam face grew more worried the longer Dean talked, then sat there, apparently letting the information sink in. After a moment, he said, “He is pale…”

“Well, not everyone can be a tanned as you,” Dean said, feeling the need to defend Cas.

“Yeah, but he’s always so tired. And not like, yawning and sleepy tired. Like, he doesn’t have much energy tired.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“You haven’t noticed any, like, IV marks on his arms or anything, have you?”

“I don’t think so, but I wasn’t exactly looking for them, y’know?”

“What about in Weight Training. Don’t you have to change for that?”

Dean nodded.

“Have you noticed any, I don’t know,” he tapped his chest, “central line scars or something? Or surgery scars? Anything?”

Dean thought for a moment and then narrowed his eyes with a new realization. “He never changes in front of us. He either uses the stall or just switches his jeans for shorts and keeps everything else on.”

“Oh yeah, that’s not suspicious. How come you didn’t say anything earlier, Dean?”

Dean threw his hands up. “I just now started putting the pieces together. I thought he was body shy or something.”

“We need to talk to him about this. What if he’s really sick, Dean?”

“I know, I know. But how do you even start that conversation? ‘Mornin’, man. Oh, by the way, are you dying?’”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. We could just ask him where he goes twice a week, try to get a straight answer out of him. He’s gotten better about that recently anyway. Maybe he’ll talk?”

Dean sighed. Sam was right, but Dean had a feeling it wasn’t going to be as easy as that.

…

Over the next couple of weeks, Sam and Dean had gotten really annoying.

First, they looked at Castiel differently. When they didn’t think he was noticing, it was like they were studying him, and when he looked directly at them, they just gave him a small, almost sad, smile.

Then there was all the unhelpful and unasked for help. They would offer to carry his books if he was carrying more than one, would open doors for him, walk him to his classes, and every morning he would get a text from Dean asking if he wanted a ride to school. Every MWF afternoon, he got asked by one or both of them if he wanted a ride home. Dean even started to join Garth and him in Weight Training – which unfortunately meant Benny joined too – and Dean just watched him the whole time, hovering, almost like he’s waiting to have to jump in and save him or something.

Then there were the questions - two different sets, both equally annoying.

The first was the concerned how-are-you-doing questions that always sounded more like how-are-you-feeling than just a greeting. Their voices and looks were full of concern, hesitant and failing miserably at trying to hide it. So, every time they asked, he gave the same answer: “Why?” And every time, they’d shake out of it – whatever it was, - shrug, and just say something similar to, “Y’know, what’s up?”

The second set of questions were pointed and, honestly, almost invasive:

“Hey, where do you go when you leave early?”

“You look really tired, is there anything wrong?”

“You know if you ever need to talk, I’m here. You know that, right?”

“I didn’t see you after school Tuesday, where were you?” <– and this, Castiel noticed, was something of a pattern every Wednesdays and Fridays - Sam asking where he was because he “went looking” for him to ask if he wanted a ride.

On one Thursday when it was time for him to leave, Cas walked up to Dean and said, “I’m leaving now to go to my super-secret meeting with the Avengers. Shall I tell them you said hello?”

He didn’t even wait for Dean to reply. He just left.

Twenty minutes later…

“So, your friends are catching on that there’s more than meets the eye. What’s so wrong with that?” Missouri asked him.

“Everything’s wrong with that. It’s none of their fucking business. I’ve made it very clear I don’t want to talk about it, and I don’t want them knowing. They’re being nosy, and it’s pissing me off.”

“Nosy? Or are they just concerned?”

“What would they have to be concerned about?”

“Well, it’s been some time of you coming here twice a week. They were bound to catch on you weren’t just getting your teeth clean this whole time, and the school wouldn’t ever allow someone to just ditch for the hell of it. Not to mention you told Dean you’d try not to push them away. They’re trying, too, you know.”

Crap. _She’s right_ , he thought, as he diverted his eyes.

“Of course I’m right,” she smirked, either having read Castiel’s thoughts or was just very good at reading his facial expressions. At this point, Castiel wouldn’t be surprised if it was both. “And wasn’t that what you wanted? Friends that actually cared, not just friends who used you for their homework and tests?”

 _Here we go again_. She’s closing in. Stripping away his arguments one by one, backing him into a corner, and he was willing to bet in three – no – two more closing points, he’s going to find himself agreeing with her and would be given an assignment to practice the “epiphany”.

“And let’s not forget your intimacy with Dean. You already crossed that line from only-in-school friends, and though you’re glad he doesn’t seem to want to pursue more, you can’t pretend it didn’t happen. That you two don’t mean a little more to each other than before.”

He seriously regretted every telling Missouri about that.

“From their perspective, they know something’s going on, and they’re worried about their _friend_. That doesn’t mean you have to open up and spill your heart out. You don’t have to tell them anything you don’t want to. But you could at least take a few minutes to ease their worries. You don’t have to tell them about all this,” she waved her hand, gesturing around the office. “But you could let them know they don’t have to worry.”

Castiel sighed heavily and nodded.

“How’s that for an epiphany,” she smirked.

…

Everyone knew that Sam and Dean lived with Bobby Singer, and everyone knew Bobby was the only guy to take your car when it needed a repair. So, after his appointment, Castiel thought he might as well rip the band-aid off, as it were, and figured it was best to do it in person so they could see he was okay, preferably without being overheard from anyone which was more easily accomplished at their house than at school. He had Gabriel drop him off – who refused to stay and wait even though this would just take a few minutes, thinking he was forcing Castiel to have social time with his friends. Bobby didn’t live too far out, but Castiel was tired; he hoped Sam and Dean wouldn’t mind giving him a ride home. After all, they had been relentlessly asking him if he wanted one, anyway.

The ride over he kept trying to think of what to say, but as he knocked on the door, he still couldn’t think of anything. He hadn’t exactly ever been good at on-the-spot discussion, particularly when he was trying to cover something up.

He reminded himself that this wasn’t covering something up. This was politely telling them that it’s private and to stop poking at it.

If he hadn’t been firmly reminding himself of this, then he probably would have laughed at how comical Sam’s surprised face was when he opened the door.

“C-cas? What’re you-… how… what’re you-…”

“Hello, Sam. I apologize for not giving you any warning, but I wanted to talk to you, and Dean. If that’s alright?”

“Uh… I mean, yeah, sure. Come, uh, come on in.”

He stepped aside to allow Castiel entrance and lead towards the stairs by the foray.

“Dean?” he called.

“What?” came the faint voice of Dean.

“Uh… Cas is here!” Sam hollered up. “He, uh, he wants to talk to us!”

Castiel heard a bump and then footsteps. After a moment, Dean appeared at the top of the stairs, gaping down at them.

“Cas?”

Castiel felt like Dean didn’t need verbal confirmation since Dean was staring right at him, so he just nodded and waited patiently for the apparent-shock of his visit to ebb away. Dean was no longer wearing the clothes he wore to school. Instead he was in a greased-stained shirt and torn, stained jeans. It looked like he was getting ready for work at Bobby’s – their Uncle Bobby’s if he remembered right. Castiel just hoped he wasn’t making Dean late.

“Uh, hey, Cas.” Dean collected himself and started making his way downstairs.

“Hello, Dean.”

“How about we go to the kitchen?” Sam suggested and turned to lead the way before anyone could agree or disagree.

Bobby’s house was cozy, Castiel thought. It was definitely lived in and a bit out-of-date. However, that just made it feel more comfortable and welcoming.

A bunch of familiar textbooks sat on the small kitchen table, and Sam quickly cleared them off, putting them on the counter by the stove instead. Both he and Dean sat on one side of the table, and Castiel took the other side for himself, looking around the kitchen and noting all the happy pictures on the refrigerator.

The brothers glanced at each other, and then Sam cleared his throat. “So, uh… What’s up, Cas? You said you wanted to talk to us?”

Castiel sighed. “Yes, and I don’t even know where to start, so bear with me…. I guess, let’s start with… why have you two have been acting like you have been? Because quite frankly, if you give me your ‘puppy-dog eyes’ one more time, Sam, I may not be able to resist the urge to do physical harm.”

Sam gave a nervous and apologetic grin, but both he and Dean shifted awkwardly in their seats.

“Um… it’s just… we know something is going on –” Sam started before Dean interrupted with, “Well, we don’t _know_. We just… I mean, like….”

“I-it just seems,” Sam continued, “that something is going on, and we’re worried about you. And I don’t know… you don’t ever really want to talk about some things, y’know? But, well…” He glanced to Dean as though looking for some courage, then with a bit more confidence bluntly asked, “Are you sick? Do you have some kind of major medical thing?”

Castiel wasn’t too surprised to hear the question, but he hated being asked it directly. He heaved a heavy sigh, propped his elbows onto the table, and rubbed his face both hands, trying to collect his thoughts.

“Sam… Dean…” he said, muffling his voice through his hands. He clenched his jaw and slowly put his hands down to look at both of them. “You’re right, there are some things I really, really, _really_ don’t want to talk about, and this is one of them, okay? Yes, twice a week I leave school and go somewhere, but no, I don’t have a major - well…” he trailed off, remembering that one of the symptoms or whatever of PDD was having what they called “major” depression for two plus years. “Not that major, I guess, thing going on. And it is, technically, medical.” Better than calling it mental, Castiel thought. He didn’t want them thinking he was crazy. “But listen to me when I tell you that I’m fine, okay?”

Sam and Dean glanced skeptically at each other.

“I am, okay? I have everything I need, and honestly all the support that I can handle right now. Gabriel and Missouri breathing down my neck about it is plenty. I don’t think I could stomach anymore people bugging me about it. Okay? So just… let it go. I’m not about to just break like some fragile thing-” or so he hoped “-and I don’t need you carry my books or give me rides. So just… stop.”

Sam and Dean were both staring at him, Sam almost apologetic and curious, but Dean looked stoic, ready.

“Okay,” Dean said. “We don’t have talk about it. But we do need to help.”

“Excuse me?” Castiel didn’t see that coming. He was predicting them asking if he needed help, but not demanding he just accept it.

“Man, you just admitted to a kinda major, technically medical thing you got going on. You don’t have to tell us what it is or talk at all, but you do need a support system of more than two people. You may not need us to carry your books or whatever, but I’m willing to bet you could use _something_ from us.”

Castiel sighed again and closed his eyes. He seriously didn’t have the energy for another fight – even if fights with Dean apparently led to happy endings. He didn’t want to be talking about this. He didn’t want to be _thinking_ about this. Why did he think doing this right after seeing Missouri and talking about it for an hour and half would be good idea?

“Dean… please, just, don’t,” Castiel pleaded, opening his eyes again to look at Dean.

“Cas,” Sam said softly. “See, Cas, it’s things like that, right there. You just went from normal to looking like the weight of the world is on your shoulders. Whatever it is, we just want to take some of the weight off, y’know? Help carry whatever burden this is.”

“Exactly, Cas. You don’t have to answer any why’s, but just tell us what to do to help.”

Castiel rubbed his forehead, turning their request over in his head. Unless they could take every ugly thought and make them pretty, he couldn’t think of anything they could possibly do. Hell, he didn’t deserve pretty thoughts. Sam and Dean didn’t deserve this. Castiel didn’t deserve all this attention and care. Right?

“The truth lies…” he mumbled to himself.

“What?” the brothers asked at the same time.

Castiel just shook his head. “Honestly, Dean, Sam, I can’t think how you possibly could help.”

“Come on, Cas,” Dean prodded, grinning a little as though he could flirt an answer out of him. “There’s got to be something.”

Castiel rolled his eyes, but a small smile still tugged on his lips. “I’ll ask Missouri; she might know, but otherwise, just stop with the pity looks, please.”

Sam looked like he wanted to say something, but dropped it. Dean just looked happy that something was being done at all. They both nodded at Castiel, who nodded back and got up.

“Oh,” he said, making the two boys pause in their own actions of standing. “There is one more thing. Um… Can I get a ride home?”

A smirk played on Dean’s lips. “I thought you said you don’t need rides,” he said smugly.

“From _school_ , Dean,” Castiel corrected.

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Dean laughed. “I, uh, actually got to get to work, but,” he dug in his pockets for a set of keys and tossed them to Sam, “he can give you one.”

“Okay. Thank you,” Castiel smiled.

“No problem,” Dean grinned back, slapping him on the shoulder. He went to turn away, but stopped and looked back at Castiel. “Look… uh, whatever it is, whatever medical care you’re getting, for what it’s worth – I think it’s working. You don’t seem as… I don’t know, tired and indifferent and closed off as when you got here. I mean, that could be anything, but if any of those things happen to be a side effect for, uh, whatever,” he gestured towards Castiel, “then, uh… whatever you’re doing seems to be working.”

Castiel had to take a moment to respond. His depression score was worse, but according to Dean, he was at least having some small improvements. Or, at least he was going to think of it as true. His instinct wanted to tell him that it’s just because Dean had asked him not to be as closed off, so by association the other things would follow. Right?

_The truth lies…_

“That’s actually worth a lot, Dean. Thank you.”

Dean beamed at him before leaving the room.

…

Sam and Dean stopped with the hovering and the looks and the questions, but they didn’t stop in the wanting to help, constantly, in any way they could. They deduced on their own that whoever Missouri was to Cas had something to do with his Tuesday and Thursdays whatever’s. Dean figured it was his doctor, but Sam thought it could be a relative.

Whoever she was, Dean got an affirmation from Cas before he left on Thursday that he’d ask her how they could help. After Cas turned down the three of them meeting sometime that afternoon or night – Cas having said that he would prefer just one conversation on the topic for the day – Dean got Cas to agree to let him and Sam take him to school the next day, and to Dean’s delight, agreeing to be picked up early so they all could have breakfast together.

Though Sam and Dean weren’t entirely morning people, they were both ready to go before it was time. Cas looked tired and quiet as always when they picked him up, wearing a black pull-over hoodie and a frown. They took him to a diner a few blocks from school and chose a booth further in the back just in case Cas didn’t want to be overheard by the early risers and truckers. Dean ordered a big bacon platter, Sam ordered breakfast fruit, and Cas just ordered coffee. After coffee had been delivered, and the silence stretched on past comfort, Dean cleared his throat and said, “So… Lay it on us.”

Cas let out a long breath and pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. “Fair warning, some of these are really stupid. I sometimes think Missouri just likes messing with me.” He gave them a nervous smile.

“Hey, if it helps, it ain’t stupid,” Dean grinned assuredly back.

Cas nodded, setting the still folded up paper by his coffee and said, “Well, my doctor said it’s important I have at the very least two litres of water a day. I usually fail horribly at that. Reminders would be helpful.”

Sam and Dean both nodded across from him, encouraging him to continue. Cas wrapped both his hands around his coffee mug, addressing it instead of them. “I always have a tendency to think things are…. Worse than they are. They’re called cognitive distortions. Like sometimes I make a big deal when it really isn’t, like anxiety or something. Only thoughts instead of emotions, per say. Though I have the emotion too. Mainly it has to do with me and what a screw up and piece of-” He cut himself off, shaking his head, but Dean was about 10000% Cas was about to say, ‘piece of shit I am.’

Cas continued, “What I mean is, reminders that what I’m thinking and seeing isn’t the truth would be helpful.”

“The truth lies,” Sam said, nodding. So that’s what Cas whispered the other day.

Cas eyes flicked up to Sam for a moment, surprised, before nodding.

It was silent for another moment before Cas continued. “I’m also supposed to be getting as much exercise as I can to lift my energy levels. I honestly don’t know if it’s working or not, but really the only work out I get is Weight Training and walking to and from school.”

Sam interrupted, “I go running at least three times a week. You can join me. Having a work out partner always helps with motivation.”

Cas looked up at him in surprise and then nodded. “Yes, Sam. I would like that, thank you.”

“And I can start, y’know, actually working out in Weight Training. Help push you along like you help Garth,” Dean suggested.

Cas nodded, “Yes, actually, that’s what I was going to suggest as well.”

“Awesome,” Dean grinned. “See, we’re helpful already!”

Cas gave Dean a shy-like smile, and Dean wondered if Cas smiling more lately had to do with him opening up to them or something else. Or both.

“Is there anything else we can do?” Sam asked, looking hopeful.

Cas sighed again and a nodded, unfolding the paper, fiddling with it while he spoke. “When I told Missouri about our conversation, she suggested a few things. One, she suggested when I look like, as Sam put it, the ‘weight of the world’ is on me, to just give me space. Pushing to talk or do anything would just increase my anxiety and lower my energy level.”

Sam nodded, and Dean mumbled an apology for them having already pushed him when he was like that.

“She also said encouraging me to be more social, more active, and get out the house would be helpful. I disagree with her, though.”

Dean snorted. “Of course you would. But if this Missouri woman suggested it, we’re doing it. Ain’t that right, Sammy?” Dean nudged Sam.

Sam shrugged. “If it seems right. I mean, if he’s looking too worn out, forcing him to be social wouldn’t exactly help the whole giving-space thing.”

“True,” said Dean. “But otherwise I’d say it’s fair game.” He wiggled his eyebrows as Cas, who was glaring at them both.

“If you’re going to keep agreeing with Missouri, then I have to make sure you _never_ meet.”

Both Sam and Dean laughed, and Dean noticed Cas wasn’t looking nearly as stressed or nervous as he did before. He was beginning to relax and accept their help, which was only a win in Dean’s book.

Dean, and Sam by how much they theorized, were both still dead curious to know what was wrong with Cas, but Dean was over the moon to be able to help. Even if it was just reminding him to drink water and inviting him to do things.

“So, there’s just one more thing she suggested,” Cas said, folding the paper up again and putting it in his pocket. “Or, more like, told me to tell you, and made me promise to say it verbatim.”

“Uh, okay…” Sam said cautiously.

“She said…” Cas took a breath and swallowed. “’Don’t you push that damn boy. I don’t care if he’s being the most difficult damn thing under the sun, you said you wanted to help, so deal with it. And I’ll know if you don’t.’”/

Cas was wincing by the end, but both Dean and Sam were laughing.

Dean said, “Tell her I said ‘yes, ma’am’.”

“Ditto,” Sam grinned.

Cas agreed, looking a little embarrassed.

After a few moments, Sam said, “Cas… I’m honestly not pushing you to talk about it or anything, I was just wondering… Like, you don’t have to tell us what you have, but like, what do we call it? Is it an illness, disease, condit-“

“Disorder,” Cas interrupted, having gone back staring at his cup.

“Oh, okay…. Thanks.”

Dean, not one for awkward pauses, said, “Well, if that’s all, then why don’t you guys tell me about this English test coming up…”

They chatted for a bit, fell into comfortable silence while they ate, and by time they left the diner, Dean was feeling pretty damn good. Cas was okay, basically, and they were going to help him get all the way okay. He was going to get better, and things could return to whatever normal they had. Or, better than normal, right? Because Cas was going to get better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The truth lies.
> 
> Dr. Andrew Solomon is an actual doc with PDD who is a psychologist and does talks and shit. Including the very real "The Secret We All Share" TED talk. Those of you who are in the pits of depression and are struggling accepting if it's you or something else: watch that.
> 
> It was the crossroad of my recovery.
> 
> The things we think, the things we see, the things we promise ourselves are absolute truths in depression: they're lies.  
> When we think ourselves worthless: lie.  
> When we think ourselves hopeless: lie.  
> When we think ourselves failures: lie.
> 
> When we think ourselves less than what we thought ourselves a year ago: lie.  
> When we think ourselves pathetic for not having change in ANY way: lie.
> 
> Whenever we think ourselves in a negative or horrible way without allowing in our brain for anything else to contradict or correct: LIE.
> 
> Depressive's truths lie. Period. 
> 
> A depressive truth when unable to open a door is, "I'm a worthless piece of shit," or a variation thereof. A nondepressive's thought when unable to open a door is, "Oh. Push, not pull."
> 
> We think differently in an inaccurate and unhealthy way. It's why we aren't mentally 'healthy'. It's why we struggle. 
> 
> Anyone who doesn't understand or try to understand can blow me. Also, fuck you.


	6. Don't overreact, remember?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel was unashamed to admit that he might have literally bounced in his excitement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still don't know how I feel about this chapter. If you hate, I'm sorry. Hopefully you'll enjoy the groups's quirkiness. Next chapter has smut, so there's that.
> 
> Otherwise, please comment if you like the story! Compliments make me preen and feel good. Also, I know it's Sunday. I'm still posting tomorrow as well. Just currently bored.
> 
> Shout out to my beta! Love you.
> 
> TW:  
> depressive thoughts  
> symptoms of depression  
> mentions of self harm

That following Tuesday, Castiel left early from Current Events for his second follow-up appointment, which he already told Sam and Dean about, both of whom gave me a thumbs-up when the intercom in their room announced he was to leave school.

Apparently what Dean said about him getting better was proving to be true. His depression score was better – and more than that, it was better than the first one. Dr. Tan seemed pleased and scheduled him for another follow-up in four months, where they would also draw his blood again.

Missouri was proud and moved their appointments back to once a week on Wednesday after school.

Once he and Gabriel got back home, Castiel sent a group text to Sam and Dean

**[Delivered 3:31 PM]  
Follow-up went very well, and I no longer will have those appointments twice a week. Just once week after school.**

He felt silly telling them. Or rather, he felt silly for being excited to tell them. Missouri said he should be excited – he was doing well. It was a slow, hard climb, but he was doing it.

He was actually doing it.

If by the huge, almost painful hug and the declaration that they were going out tonight – anywhere Castiel wanted – was any sign, Gabriel was sure as hell excited. So ,silly though he may have felt, he wanted to share that.

Sam and Dean texted back quickly, Sam saying that he was proud of Castiel, and Dean saying that it called for a celebration. He immediately started planning a party, to which Sam had to go out in the shop where Dean was working to remind him that the others didn’t know and Castiel didn’t like big gatherings anyway. The whole thing was hilarious from Castiel’s view, watching Sam’s many attempts via text to get that point across, then a hang on, then Dean’s apology.

But Castiel did want to celebrate a little, so he invited them out to dinner with him and Gabriel.

Which was actually the most fun Castiel had in a long time. Castiel had picked the Roadhouse since Ellen made the best burgers he’d ever had, and though a bunch of their friends were there, the rest of them were happy to sit on the side, just waving politely at them but making it clear they were their own party.

Gabriel was over the moon and ordered a round of drinks for the entire bar on him, in honor of his “baby bro”. When Charlie texted Dean to discreetly ask him what was going on, Dean simply said that they were celebrating something private, but just so everyone knew, they should be “really fucking proud” of Castiel.

Which caused a wave of food and drinks to be delivered to their table. Their friends bought Castiel ice cream, a milkshake, nachos, onion rings, and some guy named Ash snuck over a shot of whiskey. Castiel was thrilled to have the unspoken support, and though he let Gabriel and Dean do most of the talking, and joking, and laughing, it was a lot of fun just to watch them. To watch everyone.

Sure, Benny shot him a few suspicious glances, and Crowley eventually bought him fried pickles after learning Castiel hated them – which, though he would never tell Crowley, actually made his night because it was, in Crowley’s own way, his congratulations.

By the end of the night, though, Castiel was absolutely beat. He thanked Sam and Dean profusely for their encouragement and support, and then when he got home, he took his nighttime medication happily and went to bed feeling hopeful. He didn’t even think about cutting.

…

It was slow. But by Halloween, Castiel felt… light.

Gabriel made sure he had clean clothes, and that he showered every day. That he took his medicine, got to every appointment, and watched him closely. But eventually, Castiel was doing his own laundry. He was in the shower before Gabriel came to wake him up – and hell, just waking up on his own was something in and of itself. When it got colder and Castiel started taking Gabriel’s car to school, Gabriel didn’t even have to double check that Castiel went to his appointments.

Missouri was helping. They had begun to slowly start picking through his childhood, and Castiel was proud to say that he only became evasive and deflective like, maybe six times. That was pretty damn good, he thought.

Michael called him often, and Castiel was thankful Michael got updates from Gabriel so the only things Michael and he would talk about were the things going on in their lives. Michael normally took the lead and did most of the talking, but as the month went on, Castiel got more animated and talkative, and Michael was more than happy to let him steer the conversation.

Sam and Dean were probably the most helpful, if he was honest.

He went running with Sam every Saturday, Sunday, and Wednesday after his appointment. They didn’t really talk, just encouraged each other in their running, mainly each listening to their own music running side by side.

Dean, on the other hand, became a fireball in Weight Training. Over time, Benny ended up taking over as Garth’s spotter and teaching him specific defense moves catered to Zach - the only one who dared bully Garth now. Whereas, Dean took over officially as Castiel’s spotter, pushing him to take on five more pounds here, or do ten more squats there. If anything, he became more of a coach since he never worked out himself.

It took a couple of weeks, but all that, combined with his medication, Castiel was finally starting to feel like he had more energy. A lot more of it. By the end of the month, he didn’t think twice about having to get up and retrieve something from his locker he had forgotten.

Since he only had one class without either Sam or Dean, every day they would bring and give him a bottle of water each class, Sam bringing him two during their lunch. And without fail, every evening Castiel would get a text from Dean that simply said, “Drink up”. Usually by that time he would be just a bottle of water or two away from two liters, so he was thankful.

When Castiel’s mind started circling his ugly thoughts, and the figurative weight settled on his shoulders, they would leave him alone. Sam would sometimes offer him a stick of gum, and if it happened around Dean, Dean would pat him on the shoulder before turning away.

It was hard to explain, even to himself, but it was like those moments were coming in waves. Whereas, before he was like that all the time, now it was like the weight disappeared without Castiel even realizing it until it settled back down. The waves became less and less as the month went on, and Castiel assumed it was part of getting better. Chemicals in the brain balanced before something shifted them back to imbalance and as the medicine built up, the more his brain was able to keep the balance. At least that was what he told himself, over and over, because quite frankly, the waves made him feel like a certifiable crazy person.

Sam and Dean continued to invite him places and to do things.

One night the three of them had a movie night which resulted in a bizarre argument between the brothers about movie-food.

Another night, Dean, Castiel, and Charlie went out to dinner at the Roadhouse and played some pool.

Sam convinced Castiel one afternoon to go over to Kevin’s and help him study and work on his art project, and Castiel was genuinely surprised when he met Kevin’s mother and learned that it was only Kevin who put himself under the stress and pressure he did. Kevin’s mother couldn’t care less about his grades as long as he was happy. Castiel just assumed it was pressure from parents. Then Castiel surprised himself when he began to lecture Kevin on how unhealthy it was, soon joined by his mother, which resulted in Kevin sitting on the couch looking at his shoes while both Castiel and Ms. Tran stood over him, lecturing about the effects it could have on his health and well-being, as well as his mental health. (Castiel was the one to bring that point up.)

He hung out with Dean, mostly, taking up afternoons Dean didn’t work with just hanging out in his kitchen or living room, helping him with his homework while working on one of his art projects.

And at least once a week, either both brothers or Sam would pop by the joke shop before closing, asking Castiel to come have dinner out with them. Some nights, mostly at the beginning, they would sit silently, and if Dean came, it was mainly just Dean and Sam who’d talk. They didn’t push him, which was nice, but as the month went on, Castiel started joining the conversation, easily and happily.

When the others started asking Sam and Dean why Castiel liked them better than the rest, and why he wouldn’t hang out with them, Castiel was more than thankful that Sam simply explained that Castiel wasn’t comfortable hanging out with big groups, especially with people he didn’t really know. Dean explained that if they got to know him one-on-one, he’d feel more comfortable hanging out as a group – Castiel officially having what he used in the woods as ammunition to win an argument come back and bite him in the ass.

So, they started inviting him to one-on-one hang outs.

To everyone’s surprise, Benny was the first to ask that very next day, inviting Castiel over after school to play video games. But since Castiel wasn’t good at nor had any interest in video games, they ended up sitting across each other at Benny’s kitchen table, drinking chocolate milk of all things.

At first it was nothing short of an interrogation, then it turned into Benny’s genuine interest, and finally after an hour, into an actual conversation.

Benny admitted he didn’t trust Castiel and didn’t like how flaky he seemed. So, for Dean’s sake more than his since Benny and Dean were so close, Castiel bit the bullet and explained to Benny that he was – and still was – going through some hard things. He didn’t mean it when he shut down, truly, it was just that sometimes things, people, get too overwhelming. He admitted to Benny that he realized it made him a difficult person (to which Benny condescendingly snorted), and that he knew it was unfair. He promised Benny that if Benny ever noticed him being difficult or unfair to him or any of the others, Benny was always free to call him out on it. That Castiel would correct his behavior. He promised Benny that he was trying.

That officially knocked the chip off Benny’s shoulder, and with a promise, or rather a threat, from Benny that he was going to hold Castiel to that, Benny seemed to welcome and accept him.

Dean wasn’t too happy that it took allowing Benny to call him out on his “symptoms” for Benny drop his guard, but Castiel explained to him Benny’s side, reminded Dean of Benny’s loyalty, and that Benny had every right to be suspicious and distrusting of Castiel. Dean still didn’t like it, said it wasn’t Castiel’s fault, but he let the subject drop. Naturally, without having gotten the last word, but dropped it nonetheless.

The second to invite him out was Crowley of all people.

Castiel got the feeling that he was only doing it because Dean asked him, but still.

Crowley picked Castiel up on a Saturday night in a sleek, modern car and took him to the next town over that was significantly bigger. First, they went to high class restaurant, and Castiel sent Gabriel a huge thank you text for giving him extra cash because he was right, Crowley had expensive taste.

The dinner felt like an interview – which was better than an interrogation, Castiel thought. After Crowley assessed all of Castiel’s smarts and skills, he evaluated Castiel’s previous relationships and friendships, to which Crowley’s very sarcastic surprise that Castiel had no previous relationships or friendships was expected and even humorous. There was Balthazar, but as they were only “fuck buddies”, Crowley agreed it didn’t count.

At one point Crowley actually asked Castiel what his intentions were, and Castiel answered honestly, “I have no fucking clue, Crowley. I’m just… here.”

Curiously, Crowley seemed to understand.

More curiously, Crowley didn’t ask anything about why he moved, about his family, about his old school or how he grew up. Either Crowley somehow already knew, or he simply didn’t care.

What was unsettling was that after the interview, for lack of a better term, Crowley mentioned that he had an uncle with severe depression, and that he admired him for not having “already slit his own throat and be done with it”. It was a passing but very pointed comment as Crowley gave a brief history of himself and his life.

Whatever that dinner was, Castiel must have won Crowley’s approval, because then Crowley took him to a teenaged speakeasy ran by a bunch of posh, rich kids. Despite his politics and distaste in these type of people, they all seemed to be absolutely eating out of Crowley’s hand. Rather than spending the rest of the night conversing, Castiel spent the night nursing whatever burning but smooth drink Crowley gave him and watched as everyone kissed Crowley’s ass, and his by association.

To tip off one of the oddest nights of his life, Crowley and Castiel bonded over people-watching, analyzing the crowd. Sure, Crowley analyzed with the goal of how to properly manipulate and Castiel did it out of pure interest in the individual person, but they both agreed on most of their analyses; and Crowley had great fun using his influence to see who was right when they disagreed.

The next morning during their run, Sam wanted every detail of their night, like he was worried about what Crowley could have done or gotten Castiel involved in. He wasn’t too pleased with the interview portion, but said he wasn’t surprised. Castiel didn’t tell him about the depression comment.

Kevin asked him to hang out without anything dealing with school one afternoon, and they shared a pleasant coffee date discussing politics, religion, and how they really missed Bernie Sanders.

Ms. Tran, funnily enough, invited Castiel to dinner twice during the month. The first time, Kevin conveniently had a last minute engagement elsewhere. Castiel and Ms. Tran spent that dinner laughing about that, and actually got along very well without him.

The second time, once they both promised not to gang up on him or lecture him in any way, Kevin joined, and the three of them had a very energetic and intelligent conversation about philosophy, theatre, and strangely, _Seinfeld_ and the genius of curtains.

By the end of night, Ms. Tran invited him to every single one of their family’s gathering, over all holidays, and invited him back for a causal dinner a couple of weeks from then. Kevin looked embarrassed, but Castiel was thrilled to accept, as long as nothing conflicted with his own family’s engagement.

He was absolutely terrified to spend time with Charlie. She gave him a week’s notice, which was very kind, so he could be sure to be free and “ready”. She promised she had planned the best time of his life.

Which immediately made him anxious.

Worried, Castiel expressed his fears to Sam. Originally, he wanted to talk to Dean, or both of them, but Castiel was beginning to learn that though Dean was ready to jump into action when called for, actual defensive planning of an unconfirmed doom-and-gloom, Dean would always choose to brush it off and pretend nothing close to it would happen. Dean was the type of guy to deal with what had happened, not with what could happen.

So, he went to Sam instead on their run Wednesday evening.

“It’s not that I don’t like her, and it’s not that I don’t enjoy her. It’s just that we’re so different. I can appreciate her from afar, but I’m worried being required to participate with her may be too much. Which is ridiculous. I should be better. I’m already such a horrible friend; I should be willing to-“

“Stop,” Sam panted. They weren’t running nearly as fast as they usually would to accommodate for their conversation, but they were still running, nonetheless. “Don’t overreact, remember? Don’t put it on you. Your feelings are valid, at least I think so. You’re right; you’re both very different.” Sam paused to catch his breath. “I can tell your disorder can sometimes zap your energy to basically nothing. It’s in your best interest to try to prepare.”

“Exactly,” Castiel replied. “Charlie seems to have an unlimited resource of energy. What if she takes me to a rave or something?”

Sam chuckled. “Nah. She wouldn’t. But maybe you should let Charlie know ahead of time? Let her know during art.” A breath. “Kevin could be back up.”

“You’re right. I feel guilty that she apparently already has something planned, but you’re right. Better to disappoint her right away than when we-“

“Stop,” Sam panted again. “You aren’t disappointing anyone. You would disappoint her if you kept your mouth shut and only explain things after she thought she pushed you too hard or gave you a bad time. Y’know?”

“Right. Yes… Yeah.”

“Yes, Castiel.” Sam using his full name somehow made him feel more confident.

“Thank you, Sam.”

“Anytime. Now,” Sam began to speed up, “can I finish that _Twenty-One Pilots_ album or what?”

Castiel snickered and nodded, putting his own earbuds back in his ear and pushing play on his phone snug in his phone’s running arm-band.

He knew Kevin knew that Castiel wasn’t… normal? Though Missouri hated when he said stuff like that. It was comforting to know Kevin would jump in if need be. So, that Monday after Sam’s and his run, and after they did chapter work with, once again, Castiel being the first to finish by far, Castiel swallowed his fears and spoke.

“Um… Charlie. I’m looking forward to tomorrow – really – and I really want to know you, but I, if it’s not too late to change things, I really can’t… Well, I don’t know how to point it. I just… I know, trust me I _know_ , I’m difficult, but I’m worried about what kind of surprise this is, because I’m af-“

“I’m just going to stop you right there, Novak,” she said sternly, but with a smile. “What kind of hostess to do think I am? I do know my audience, yo! So, don’t worry. Nothing about tomorrow isn’t right up your alley. I’ve even planned with Dean, so relax.”

“I… what?”

She and Kevin smiled at him. “I’m not going to ruin the surprise, but I will tell you I am hella competitive,” she explained. “Dean and Sam won you over already, alright. Crowley bragged about a speakeasy, so what?” She rolled her eyes then turned serious. “I, my dear friend, am determined to give your weird ass a great time. I consulted with Dean, he approved of my plan, so unless you don’t _trust_ Dean…”

Castiel didn’t dignify that with an answer, mostly because he wasn’t sure of the answer. He just smiled at her and relaxed some. Dean approved, so he would have a little faith. He should have talked to Dean in the first place. Charlie was constantly considerate, so of course she wanted to Castiel a good time. _His_ kind of good time.

The next day after school, they dropped Gabriel’s car off, and Charlie took him to the next town over. Instead of a fancy restaurant or speakeasy, Charlie took him a museum and presented him with tickets for the space theater – a dome where the screen was on the ceiling and the seats were lounged back for the audience to enjoy the movies and documentaries about space more comfortably.

Castiel was unashamed to admit that he might have literally bounced in his excitement.

The entertained themselves while waiting for the documentary to start by exploring the art side of the museum, and then the science side, all the while Castiel telling Charlie things about the artists or inventors. Charlie seemed more than happy to be given a personal tour and let him drown her with knowledge she probably didn’t want nor cared about.

The dome theater was amazing. Castiel felt like he was flying. The domed-shape and high definition screen made it really feel like he was in space. He loved it… until the documentary kept going… and going… and then Castiel felt…

Small wouldn’t even cover it. Here he was working so hard to build self-worth, but compared to the universe, he really was nothing.

They were quiet when they left the theater, but as soon as they were outside, Charlie turned him and said, “I feel like the most insignificant thing in the universe.”

Castiel felt his mouth drop open. “Me too.”

Then they were laughing, laughing so hard they had to hold onto each other for fear of falling down.

Before they left town, they stopped by a t-shirt making store named Jappers, and they both made t-shirts (Charlie’s hot pink; Castiel’s dark green) that had printed on the front: **“I feel like the most insignificant thing in the universe”** , and printed on the back: **Castiel and Charlie go to a space museum, 2017**.

Little did they know it would spark an annual tradition of both of them going out to a different museum each time and creating t-shirts with the funniest quote of the day on it.

The next day, they both wore their t-shirts, and before Current Events started, Charlie made Castiel stand beside her to show the others, announcing herself as victor of Operation-Get-to-Know-Castiel. Castiel rolled his eyes to that, but couldn’t help but feel warm inside.

That weekend, Gadreel and Garth took Castiel out to lunch. Garth naturally did most of the talking, but both Gadreel and Castiel patiently listened and calmly let Garth talk. By the end of it, Castiel felt calmer than he had in a while. He thought maybe it was because of Gadreel, someone who always seemed calm and sturdy. Castiel briefly wondered how Gadreel became that way, and hoped he himself could accomplish that sometime during his life.

All these things helped, it seemed, in his recovery, and Castiel was very happy about them. And sure, maybe the words he threw at Dean that day in the woods were a little true, and maybe now that he knew all of them, he felt a little better about the idea of hanging out in a group setting.

But none of those things were why he said yes when Charlie invited him to her Halloween party.

It was because he started accepting compliments, allowing himself to think that maybe he was smart, or yeah, maybe he did look good today.

It was because as the month went on, he started actually participating in class, correcting the teachers or answering questions. He wasn’t crouching down doodling pretending not to exist. His head was up, and he was talking despite everyone being able to see and hear him.

It was because one Saturday afternoon, although he could be thoroughly rejected from all of them, he sent out a group text to everyone asking if anyone wanted to join him for coffee. And the fact that he didn’t take only Dean, Charlie, and Kevin being available as rejection from those who couldn’t make it.

It was because he started to initiate conversation, with his friends, with customers at the joke shop, with strangers.

It was because when he realized that his almost-out of deodorant (almost, as in what little was left would pop out and fall on the counter every time he opened it so he would have to fix it and roll it on with the plastic sides rubbing his skin – so basically almost as in had been out for a while) really was starting to get annoying, and that he was almost out of toothpaste and thoroughly out of his Axe spray, he actually left _early_ one morning, went _inside_ the market, and got the items he needed before going to school.

He actually did that. He didn’t ask Gabriel to get it next time he was out, he himself went out and got it. The only other time he did an errand like that was to get razor blades.

That was like… huge.

Despite the fact that he also got new razor blades.

But most of all, he said yes because he _wanted_ to go. He wanted the social experience and to see and hang out with all of them. He wanted to do that.

Sure, he was a long way from fixed. He still cancelled last minute on some things because he couldn’t work up the energy which caused all sorts of cognitive distortions and anxiety. He still cut, he still shrunk inside himself sometimes. He still had the running circle of ugly thoughts that drained him and made him feel helplessly hopeless.

But he was still trying, and he was seeing the progress with his own eyes.

He was nothing short of proud when Garth announced one day that there was something different about Castiel that he just couldn’t put his finger on. He spent a week asking Castiel if he changed his hair, or if he was shaving differently, anything he could think of. Garth finally decided that it was his work outs were beginning to show and left it at that.

Castiel didn’t have the heart to tell him that the difference was that he was smiling.

Genuinely smiling. At other people, talking with them, enjoying himself.

It was this smile he wore when he got home from dinner with Sam and told Gabriel he was going to a Halloween party.

Gabriel cheered, fisting the air. He was wearing expensive silk pajamas and silky green robe with his initials stitched on them. “We are going to get you the _best_ costume!” He jumped up from the couch he was lounging on and waddled to the kitchen counter where his laptop was safely tucked near the wall.

Castiel didn’t even think about costumes. Crap. Why did he agree to this? He should probably cancel right now. “I… uh, I haven’t worn a costume in years.”

Gabriel looked at him surprised as he perched himself on the counter. “Really?”

Castiel shrugged as he joined him across the counter. “I guess I just wasn’t in the Halloween spirit.”

Gabriel nodded in understanding and luckily dropped it. No need discussing about how depression suck any possibility of holiday spirit right out of anyone. “Well, grasshopper, Halloween for you is no longer about trick-or-treating. It’s about dressing up, dancing with whoever you think is cute, and getting totally smashed.”

“You’re condoning underage drinking?”

“Well, I still remember you helping me sneak back in absolutely drunk when I was a teenager. You covered for me and helped with my hangover. I’d be a total douche if I flipped on you now.”

“Good to know,” Castiel smirked.

“Okay, so, costume ideas. What’re you thinkin’?” Gabriel asked, getting back to business by opening his laptop and typing.

“I honestly have no idea. What do people normally dress as?”

“It’s not about norm, Cassie. Let’s see… how to narrow this down. Let’s start with theme, I guess.”

“Okay.”

“Do you want to be scary, silly, sexy, or serious?”

Castiel thought about it. He didn’t particularly want to be scary because he was pretty sure that would involve a lot of fake blood and cuts, which meant a lot to get ready, and he didn’t want to push his energy that much for fear of it bottoming out on him. He wasn’t really the silly type. Serious was more his thing, but after thinking about the way Dean looked at him sometimes in Weight Training which was brought on by Gabriels “dancing with whoever you think is cute” comment, he said before he could stop himself, “Sexy.”

“Ooh,” Gabriel wigged his eyebrows at him. “Alright then. Sexy…. Sexy…” Gabriel was typing again and then began scrolling. Castiel leaned over the counter to see what he was doing and saw Gabriel was scrolling through a Party City website. A lot of the costumes Castiel was seeing were really… revealing.

Really, really revealing.

“Gabriel…” he said, his voice sounded sad, even to himself. “My stomach…”

Gabriel looked over at him for a moment with a small smile. “I already put that into consideration, Cassie. I got you.”

After what felt like an eternity, Gabriel finally pounded on the counter triumphantly and twirled the laptop around to show Castiel. There on the screen was a shirtless pirate costume with a sash wrapped around the lower stomach that would hide Castiel’s habit perfectly.

Castiel beamed and nodded at Gabriel, who ordered it looking rather smug and proud of himself.


	7. Is there anything I can do?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even though Castiel really didn’t want a relationship right now – he had enough going on as it were – he couldn’t help the urge inside him wanting to sit next to Dean again, hold his hand, rub his thigh, kiss him gently and quickly without tongue or heat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment or leave kudos if you like this. It makes my heart all warm and fuzzy.
> 
> Shout out to my beta, as always. You rock.
> 
> TW:  
> underage drinking  
> drinking on medication  
> mentions of self harm

Gabriel was going to his own Halloween party, dressed in a fake mustache and a goudy red vest, looking like something straight from a porno. Castiel assumed he decided to go as “sexy” as well, but to Castiel, he looked anything but. He dropped Castiel off at Charlie’s before reminding him in no uncertain terms that he planned to get hammered and nailed tonight and probably wouldn’t be home until tomorrow afternoon. Halloween fell on a weekend, so Gabriel was taking full advantage.

Though Castiel’s energy fell that afternoon, making both Gabriel and Castiel late, he was excited now.

And he was confident.

His time in Weight Training really had been paying off – not necessarily in its original goal, but Castiel wasn’t going to complain.

His costume consisted of black boots that went up mid-calf and surprisingly heavy black pants tucked in them. The pants hung low on his hips even with the belt, and Castiel was thankful the fake sword sheathed in his belt wasn’t real or the weight might pull his pants all the way down. The sash covered his scars and cuts almost perfectly with just the tail end of a scar poking out, which Gabriel assured him only made him look more like a real pirate. He wore a leather arm band on his left forearm going from his wrist to his elbow, and finally an eye patch that he was already ready to take off. He hadn’t shaved in a few days to have the stubble look for his costume, and Gabriel cut his hair – unevenly he might add – making it look messier than ever.

But still, he felt like he looked good. He almost truly believed it by time he knocked on Charlie’s door, and with everyone’s reaction, he let himself officially accept it as truth.

Crowley was the one who opened the door, dressed as a red devil complete with a tail and, to Castiel’s amusement, high heels. Crowley’s jaw dropped when he saw Castiel and looked over him, but he quickly recovered, smirking and said, “My, oh, my. If Dean doesn’t jump your bones tonight, I just might.”

Castiel rolled his eyes and pushed past him. The front door opened into the living room where everyone already was, and they all simultaneously gaped at him.

Castiel couldn’t help but notice Dean scanning his body like he was in a trance, and shifting in his seat, closing his legs some and sliding his forearm over a little as though to quickly conceal a particular reaction in the crotch area. Castiel tried to hide a smirk, but judging by how Dean looked embarrassed and turned away when he finally looked back up to Castiel’s face, he had failed miserably.

“ _Daaaaaamn, boy!”_ Charlie exclaimed as she jumped from her spot on the couch and wrapping him in a hug, her BB-8 dress leaving little to the imagination herself. “I’m so happy I’m gay or I might have ended up sexually harassing you tonight.”

“Maybe I really should take Weight Training more seriously,” Benny laughed from where he sat, dressed as a vampire if his fake teeth were to go by, which was the only thing to indicate a costume at all since he was in clothes he usually wore. “I sure as hell don’t think you looked that buff when you first came here.”

“I know, right?” Garth said, his pink bunny ear flopping as he nodded. “I told you – there’s something different about him!”

Castiel laughed and thanked him as he made his way over to sit next to Dean in an empty chair that seemed to be pulled from the dining room table in the combined room.

“You look, uh…” Dean cleared his throat and tried again. “You look great, Cas.”

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel smiled and surveyed him while he took off his eye patch. Dean was in tight jeans and a tight black shirt, and his hair was styled in elegant waves. “What are you supposed to be?”

“Me?” Dean asked, looking down at himself. “Oh. I’m Patrick Swayze.”

Castiel hummed appreciatively, taking his time looking over Dean. “It’s, uh… It’s a very good look on you.”

“Yeah, uh, you too.”

Laughter broke their focus from eyeing each other. They both looked over to see Sam, dressed as a dead basketball player, and Gadreel, dressed as what looked like a dead basketball player of an opposing team, ‘zombie attack’ Kevin to the ground, who was dressed in what Castiel recognized as a Star Trek costume.

They all played a round of _Joking Hazard_ , in which Crowley was the victor. Charlie demanded a rematch, in which Benny was the victor. Frustrated, Charlie demanded another round, this time Castiel was the victor, which he was sure was just pure luck. Finally, Charlie admitted defeat, angry that her own game betrayed her.

Throughout the whole time, Dean couldn’t keep his eyes off Castiel. So, Castiel made sure to stretch often, and took any excuse, like moving Charlie’s chair for her, to flex his muscles.

Crowley brought over a lot of liquor, a taste for each palette, and Benny made Castiel a few drinks to find which one he liked the best. Castiel eventually settled on tequila and Dr. Pepper, taking a sip of Dr. Pepper _before_ the tequila, despite Benny telling him that’s not how chasers were done.

After a round of _Exploding Kittens_ , Castiel got up and went to Charlie’s kitchen were the tequila was being stored in the freezer. By time he finished pouring a small glass, warm hands were being wrapped around his waist.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said without even having to look.

“Mmm, was I that obvious?” Dean asked against his ear.

“Yes,” Castiel smirked. “But I would be lying if I didn’t hope for this when I got the costume.”

“Oh, so this was all for me, huh?” Dean asked, kissing around Castiel’s neck.

“If it didn’t work on you, Crowley is always available.”

“Nope,” Dean said, turning Castiel around and capturing his lips. “You’re mine tonight.”

“Oh, am I?” Castiel challenged with a grin.

“I’ll make it worth your while,” Dean whispered against his skin, pulling Castiel’s head back and kissing down the front of his throat.

“Prove it,” Castiel hummed, already starting to breathe harder.

Dean pulled Castiel into the garage right off the kitchen, shutting the door and slamming Castiel against it. He kissed him slow and deep, his tongue hot and wet, ordering Castiel’s around.

It was even better than in the woods. Castiel still wasn’t sure what happened there, but he had never been one to question _anything_ sexual. If it felt good, do it. Consensually, of course. Or even alone. Generally, Castiel preferred alone. He didn’t have to worry about a damn thing when he was alone. Not about his scars, not if he was making a stupid face, not wondering what the other person was thinking – did they think he was attractive, what level of attractiveness, would they still find him attractive if he made a stupid face, if he made a stupid sound. It all ruined the mood for him; his anxiety sometimes deflating him faster than seeing his grandmother naked.

He was always thankful he was gay, because at least he had a sure-fire signal if he was doing something right. From what he understood hearing girls and guys talk, women could fake it way too easily.

But right now, with a few shots of tequila in him, he couldn’t care less about all those things. The only thing he cared about was the taste and smell of beer mixing with tequila, Dean’s spit tingling his lips, Dean’s hands working down, grabbing his ass, Dean kissing down his throat, biting across his chest, licking and sucking his nipples. When Dean near his sash, Castiel was already hard. So, in desperate need for both his penis and his scars, Castiel threw his head back, let out a probably loud moan, and said, “Dean, _please_ , please…”

Dean groaned and dropped to his knees, stumbling with pulling Castiel out, licking him, cupping his balls, rubbing them, sucking his head.

“Goddamnit Dean, if you don’t stop teasing me-“

Dean swallowed him down, moaning as he did so.

Oh, the wetness, the warmth, the _tongue_. Moving in seductive waves underneath him as Dean hollowed out his cheeks, sucking him further in. Castiel was sure he was pre-leaking, and judging by Dean’s moan, pulling back to lick the head of Castiel’s dick, he absolutely had to be. When Dean took him back down, Castiel whined.

He always hated that about himself sexually. Having a deep voice was almost like his trademark, but add a little sexual pleasure, he didn’t just sound like a regular joe, he fell apart, whining, whimpering, begging.

But tequila was amazing because he gave absolutely no fucks right then. The only thing he cared about in association with what came out of his mouth was to make sure the others didn’t hear.

“ _God_ , Dean, what I wouldn’t give to fuck your mouth…”

Dean abruptly stopped. It took Castiel a moment, but then he looked down, worried he just crossed some line.

But Dean was looking up at him, wiggled his eyebrows, and took Castiel all the way down and stilled.

“Dean?”

Dean winked up at him, taking his hands away from Castiel’s hips and lifting them up in surrender.

“Dean?” he asked again. “Are you seriously going to let me…?”

Dean winked again, hands dropping down. Castiel heard the distinct sound of a zipper, and then felt movement, then a steady rhythm, the back of Dean’s forearm brushing against Castiel’s pants.

Castiel ran his hands through Dean’s soft hair, then gripped it tight. “Dean, wink one more time so I know it’s okay.”

Dean winked.

“Thank fucking god…” Castiel moaned and he began to move slowly. He pulled himself almost all the way out then slowly back in, testing Dean’s gag reflex. He did it fast, deeper. Then again, faster. Careful not to hurt him, Castiel picked up speed to match what he felt brushing against his pant leg.

The sound of Dean’s sucking, spit, and slurping filled around them. Dean moaned, and the vibrations were incredible.

“Jesus, Dean, holy fuck…”

Letting his left hand fall useless to his side, Castiel gripping the hair at the top of Dean’s head a little harder, letting his own head fall back (okay, maybe not to worry about what faces he was making), whimpering as quiet as he could.

Thrust, thrust, thrust, while Dean sucked, his tongue waving quickly, creating sensations beyond what he could believe.

“F-fuck, Dean, this is my favorite… Dean… C-crap, Dean… Th-this is the best I’ve ever-… I can’t… even think.”

Dean moaned, his arm going faster. Dean sucked harder, but his tongue stilled. No, Castiel was so close…

“No, no, no, no, tongue. De… an. Please, that tongue thing.”

Castiel was getting louder. As Dean’s tongue started rolling underneath him again, Castiel’s left hand shot up, covering his mouth to block his whines and moans. He let out a particularly loud grunt to try to warn Dean, and then he was flooding Dean’s mouth, Dean drinking his cum hungrily, moaning with him.

Dean licking him dry. He laid his forehead against Castiel’s right hip, and Castiel could feel Dean’s arm going even faster, breathing hard.

Dean seemed to enjoy Castiel’s words, so he took a chance as he tried to catch his breath. There was no way he could move right now or be able to immediately help Dean finish. Fuck, after that, he needed to finish Dean, in any way he could.

He owed him.

Instead of gripping Dean’s hair tight, he started petting it, stringing his fingers through, rubbing his scalp and stroking it.

“That was so fucking amazing, Dean. You were so amazing. So good.” Dean let croaked moan. Hoping that meant he was doing something right, Castiel continued, “Dean, you have no idea. God… I… still can’t catch my breath.” Which wasn’t entirely untrue. He was still panting, but he could probably talk better than that if he tried.

But it worked. Dean let out a sinful sound, and Castiel could feel his arm slow.

“Fuck, Cas,” he whispered.

Castiel only gave Dean a few moments before he helped pull Dean up, grabbing his wrist and licking his hand clean. He was dying to know how Dean tasted. Dean seemed more than happy to let him, his fingers going limp as Castiel suck on them, licking his palm and thumb. When he was done, Dean leaned his forehead against Castiel’s, allowing them an intimate moment while they fully recovered.

“That was the hottest fucking thing,” Dean said, pulling away and tucking himself back in. Castiel followed suit, chuckling. He felt amazing.

“If my costume really solicits something like this, I’ll wear it every year.”

Dean snorted, and after a second of them smiling at each other, Castiel made his way to go back inside, only to have Dean stop him.

“Cas, what you said, about the best you… Was it in the heat of the moment, or-“

“Dean,” Castiel said firmly, eyebrows going up to emphasize his point – God, he was turning into Gabriel already. “That was the best blowjob I have ever had. And I would have to pay a professional to ever get anything like it again.”

Dean beamed.

When they returned to the others, it seemed their friends either didn’t notice or cared that Castiel and Dean were gone. They didn’t start a new round of _Exploding Kittens_ , Castiel noticed, but they were all fully engrossed discussing which television showed they really wanted on the air again, no one seemed to care about the wait.

Two more rounds of the game – the three in total having victors as followed: Kevin, Sam, and Sam again – and they decided to which to _Drunk, Stoned, or Stupid_.

Castiel only had two more drinks, the fuzziness of his vision already telling him he had enough beforehand. He knew some of his medication didn’t mix well (or at all) with alcohol, so after his fifth drink over four hours, he made himself back off, despite how much he wanted to continue.

That was, until he noticed Dean and Benny talking animatedly, Crowley eventually joining them, having their own conversation over the game.

Castiel never thought of himself as the relationship type. Balthazar’s father replaced Castiel’s as the head of the main church in town when Castiel’s father took off. Therefore, Balthazar never “came out”. Castiel quickly realized that Balthazar befriended him because he both knew what Balthazar was going through with his father’s reputation, and because Castiel was openly gay. They never actually developed a friendship, though, and just took to basically fucking each other three times a week. In public, they were merely polite to each other, acknowledged one another, nothing more.

Castiel never realized how stupid that was of him until the end.

Thinking of having the same with Dean stung and hurt.

Though Dean was all eyes earlier, he wasn’t so much anymore. Castiel caught him looking maybe a couple of times during the third round of _Exploding Kittens_ , but he seemed otherwise uninterested.

Even though Castiel really didn’t want a relationship right now – he had enough going on as it were – he couldn’t help the urge inside him wanting to sit next to Dean again, hold his hand, rub his thigh, kiss him gently and quickly without tongue or heat.

An unwelcomed jealousy roared inside him with the attention Dean was giving Benny, even though Benny was straight. Add Crowley – the other gay man in the room – and Castiel’s eyes were turning green. It might have been because of the alcohol. It might have been that, even though Castiel was pretty sure Crowley would end up a balding, bit-of-belly, sort of middle-aged man, as a teen he was gorgeous, more gorgeous in a tight red suit. Maybe it was because just a little bit ago, Castiel _literally_ fucked Dean’s mouth, and now that mouth was laughing at whatever Crowley said, and licking his lips before smiling at Benny, watching Benny laugh at the same thing.

He didn’t know what it was. But it bothered him to no end. So, he drank.

By time they were half-way done with _Drunk, Stoned, or Stupid_ , Castiel assumed he was properly drunk, and decided the jealousy was all because he wanted affection. And who better to give him affection than Charlie, the most affectionate of the group.

When Sam left to pee, and Kevin and Benny left to refill their drinks, Castiel got up and flopped down next to Charlie, taking Kevin’s place on the couch. He threw his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close.

“What’s gotten into you?” she asked with a smirk.

“I’m drunk and in need of affection,” he answered with his own smirk.

“Ha, well, you came to the right place. I got affection in spades. All it will cost you is,” and she lifted up her drink and shook it, showing its near-empty state.

“On it, but only if you play with my hair.”

She laughed and agreed. Castiel made his way to the kitchen, having Benny teach him the right way to make her drink – because Castiel was going to make it, damnit, not Benny, and returned. She took a sip, hummed her approval, sat it down on the coffee table, then threw her arms around him, giving him a wet kiss on the cheek.

The rest of the game, unless moving to participate, Charlie kept her arm around his shoulders, fingers petting his hair, and he kept his arm around her waist, tickling her when he got bored that earned him a whack on the head before she resumed her petting.

It was enough to make Castiel stop drinking and thinking about Dean for a while.

They all slept over: Dean on the floor, Sam on an armchair, Crowley in the guest bedroom by himself, Kevin, Benny, and Gadreel in Charlie’s aunt’s bed who would be gone all weekend, Garth in the bathtub with a  pumpkin, and Charlie and Castiel in Charlie’s bed.

By time Charlie and Castiel made it up the stairs and to Charlie’s room, Castiel still felt drunk.

“I wonder why,” Charlie replied to his confession. He was sitting on the edge of her bed, debating to himself if it would be comfortable sleeping in what he had on or not. She was at her mirrored dresser, using some kind of wipe to take her make-up off.

“Probably my medication,” Castiel answered honestly, deciding shoes should be off to sleep and working one off his foot. “I’m on, like, a _lot_ of medication. I actually got a pill to wake up and a pill to go to sleep. It’s embarrassing.”

“Oh,” Charlie said across the room. “Wait… do you need-“

Castiel drunkenly waved away her almost-question away. “Sleep is take-as-needed. I’ll be good. Good. It’s funny,” he said, taking his other boot off, “good’ and ‘food’ never rhymed to me. Well, they kind of do, depending on what rhyme scheme, but I’ve never been able to hear the ‘g’ and ‘f’ infliction or something on the rest of all those words.”

Charlie chuckled. “Cas, promise me you aren’t going to die or something drinking this much on your medicine.”

Castiel shook his head, falling back on her bed, his boots tossed carelessly aside. “Nope. Dr. Tan suggested not to drink – the bottle shit, that orange one, that place that puts pills in it, even put a sticker on some, but she – Tan, Dr. Tan – said that they do that for people who drink a shit ton. I’m good. Recording… Recording? According! According to her, I’ll have a fuck of a hangover. But who cares,” his last word was swallowed by a yawn.

“Cas?”

“Yeah?”

She chuckled again. “I’m going to keep a close eye on you, okay?”

Castiel shrugged, hearing some ruffling of fabric.

“Do want something else to sleep in? I think Dean and Sam brought some stuff, but they’re both out now. I could steal it for you.”

“That would be awesome,” Castiel said, thinking of Dean at the word awesome.

After hearing something shut, maybe a drawer because there was a wood-sliding sound, Charlie said, “I’ll be right back.”

To stop himself from falling asleep, he decided to get ready for whatever clothes she’d bring back. He took off his arm band, his sash, his pants with belt and sword still attached, and socks. Once just in his boxer-briefs, he sat back down and waited, stubbornly not letting his thoughts stray to Dean and what he and I-need-my-own-bedroom-Crowley could be doing if they wanted.

Charlie came back with a light green duffle bag.

“Okay, I figured Dean was more your size, so I took his. Here’s… no that’s underwear. Okay, sweatpants,” she tossed black fabric to him, “and a… shirt,” she tossed blue fabric to him.

“Thank you, Charlie,” Castiel sighed, setting the shirt aside and standing to put on the sweatpants. By time he had them almost all the way up, he heard a gasp.

“What?” Castiel asked, pausing to look at her.

“Um… nothing. I… thought I saw a spider.”

Castiel snorted and continued getting dressed. “I wish I could say I could kill it for you, but I doubt I can even get dressed right now.”

As if to prove his point, he stumbled trying to put on his shirt. Charlie caught him and helped get his left arm in its correct hole.

Once they were in bed, comfortable under her comforter, Charlie asked, “Does anyone know you cut?”

Sleepy and intoxicated, Castiel didn’t think anything of the question. He just answered honestly, “My brothers, my doctor, and Missouri – my therapist. They think I stopped. But I think Missouri knows better. She hasn’t raised the red flag to Gabriel though.”

“That’s good, I guess. She doesn’t think you’re in danger.”

Castiel chuckled. Charlie and him were facing each other, and he grabbed her hand to hold it. “I have a life-long disorder, Charlie. I will always be in danger.”

“Cas… I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do?”

Castiel tried to laugh but burped instead, making him laugh harder when he got the chance. His eyes were already closed; he was comfortable, warm, felt safe and protected underneath her Harry Potter blankets, holding her hand.

Drunk.

“Leavin’ me ‘lone about it always helps. Gabriel, Missouri, Sam, Dean, ‘hey all hover ‘round me. ‘Course Sam and Dean don’t know what’s wrong, just that something’s not okay. I hate that. I hate it. I hate feeling like s’meone has to watch me and, I don’t know, prospect… wait, no… protect. Protect me. They do this helicopter thing. Always overhead. I don’t know.”

He fell asleep almost immediately, all things after Castiel joining Charlie on the couch forgotten.

When he woke up, he was alone in bed with three Ibuprofen and a bottle of water on Charlie’s bedside table. He took the pills and drank all the water quickly. Most everyone had left by time he felt okay enough to go downstairs. Only Kevin and Gadreel remained.

Castiel’s head was still pounding by time Charlie dropped him off at home, and he walked in to find an equally – if not more so - hungover Gabriel moaning in pain on the couch, still in his costume.

Castiel’s costume was in a Kroger bag he was carrying, sword in his other hand. Charlie assured Castiel that Dean wasn’t mad he was wearing the clothes he brought. Dean had said to return them whenever. Jokingly, and maybe under the influence of either last night’s alcohol or the hangover, Castiel texted Dean asking if he could keep them.

Dean said yes, so he did, even though the yes was followed by a “weirdo”.


	8. Yes, but they don't want to share

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean knew what this debate was going to be about. Him, Charlie, Cas, and Crowley all exchanged weary looks. Charlie was already wringing her hands, Crowley perching his lips, and Dean started tapping his foot. Cas, however, looked stoic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a pic that goes along with this chapter that, for the life of me, I can't seem to insert. I'll work on it.
> 
> Next chapter has more smut, so stick with me here. Please comment or leave kudos if you like this!
> 
> TW:  
> depression symptoms  
> depressive thoughts  
> self depreciating thoughts  
> thoughts of suicide  
> politcal debate  
> homophobic slur

November was even better than October as Castiel continued to improve. He smiled more easily, conversed more animatedly, and he couldn’t wait for Thanksgiving to see Michael and show him first hand that he was better. He was recovering.

That was, until an incident happened to show Castiel that this whole recovery thing was going to be a lot harder than he was beginning to think it would be. Especially if he could just so, so easily slip right back to where he was a few months ago.

It happened one afternoon after school. Dean and Castiel were at Dean’s kitchen table, Dean trying to study for an upcoming Chemistry test and Castiel working on his art project.

And for the life of him, he just couldn’t get it _right_.

His sketch of it was fucking _perfect_. The shading of the broken hourglass made it look real. As though time really was slipping through its broken glass, like how time was slipping through the hands of Castiel’s own broken self.

Now, trying to recreate it on a bigger surface, it wasn’t fucking _working._

The color pencils weren’t blending the way he needed them to. What was supposed to be dark brown, polished wood of the table that the sand was ruining looked _anything_ but polished to him; and fuck it all to hell if the highlights and shading of the sand did anything to help it look like fucking _sand_. Well, it did look like sand, but not nearly as real as his sketch did.

He was getting more and more frustrated the more and more he tried, and suddenly something inside him shifted again, breaking the balance of hormones and neurons, and a flood of ugly thoughts engulfed him.

_Don’t blame the pencil, Castiel, you’re the fuck up here._

_And here you called yourself an artist. You can’t even make it look like light shining off the glass._

_God, you’re so pathetic._

_You thought you could just breeze through your classes; you actually considered yourself smart and talented. Look at this. Look at_ you. _You’re horrid. You’re so stupid._

_And isn’t it just like you to have gotten your hopes up._

_Thought you could create something this good, this meaningful._

_Of course, it’s only meaningful to you. No one else cares about you “improving over time”. About “breaking free.”_

_But you knew all along, didn’t you? That’s why you have the sand spilling everywhere, because no matter what the fuck you do, no matter how fucking hard you try, you’re always going to be a piece of shit. You can’t even shade a fucking shadow. You’re a fucking loser._

_You can’t even go a full month without fucking something up._

_You suck. You fucking suck at_ life _._

 _Goddamnit, you have a_ life _-long disorder. You’re always going to be this way. The monster is always going to be there, stalking you, watching you, waiting to leap._

 _But it’s not the monster’s fault, is it? It fucking_ you. _You’re the one who can’t handle life. You’re the one who can’t go a fucking month with spiraling out of control, apparently. You’re the one that gets all down and sad like a toddler because you can’t handle life._

_Life isn’t hard. You just suck at living._

_You’re a burden, a waste of space, and causing all sorts of fucking drama that made Gabriel drag you across the country and spend all this money on you. You don’t even deserve it. Anyone who causes all that drama just because he’s_ sad _isn’t worth the fucking time and effort._

_You’re a stupid, untalented, disgusting, lazy, selfish, piece of shit of a drama queen._

**_What the fuck are you still doing alive?_ **

“Hey.”

Dean’s soft voice came out of nowhere making Castiel jump. He didn’t realize he had his head hung and was harshly rubbing his hands across his face and hair. He looked up at Dean, stunned to see him there.

Dean quirked a small grin. “Is this one of those things where you’re making a big deal out of small potatoes?”

“What?”

Dean nodded to his drawing where Castiel had thrown down the color pencil.

Castiel didn’t say anything. He was ashamed of it and embarrassed to even have Dean looking at the world’s worst and most pathetic drawing. He crossed his arm protectively to himself and hung his head again.

“Hey,” Dean said again, putting a bracing hand on his shoulder. “Look, man, I don’t know what you’re worked up about, your drawing looks fucking amazing to me.”

“It’s not right,” Castiel mumbled. “I can’t get it to work right.” He sighed, immediately rubbing his face again and swallowing around the stinging in his throat. “’Thought I was supposed to have talent.”

“Whoa, whoa, Cas, look at me.” Dean removed Castiel’s hand and turned his face to look at him. “That, right there,” he pointed to the drawing, “is talent, Cas. I don’t know what you think is wrong with it, but believe me it’s a shit ton better than what the school normally displays down the art wing. I mean it, okay? That’s fucking talented as hell.”

Castiel rolled his eyes and turned away, starting to pack up his art supplies.

“Don’t make a big deal out of it, okay, Cas? It’s amazing, you’re amazing, and that’s all there is to it. Whatever you think is wrong with it, you can fix it. You know you can.”

Castiel took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and tried to relax his shoulders. Missouri told him he had to be kind to himself, be his own friend. So, trying to imagine himself as someone else, he tried to think of what he would say to himself.

Immediately, they’re along the lines of what Dean just said.

_It’s okay. You still have plenty of time before this is due. You can buy different pencils, try different brands, and see what works best._

_You are talented. The sketch is beautiful and perfect. You_ can _recreate it. Be patient with yourself. If it’s not working, it doesn’t mean you’re the problem. Try different pencils, and even ask for some advice from Milton. That doesn’t make you any less smart or talented._

_You have a challenge now, something you’ve been wanting since you got here._

_Relax. It’s okay. You’re okay._

When he opened his eyes again, Dean was watching him. He tried, and failed, to give him a smile and said, “Thank you, Dean.”

Now, if only he could get his thoughts to not get out of control of the embarrassment of all this having just happened in front of Dean. But Dean didn’t seem to mind. He helped put away all Castiel’s things, saying a break from the drawing might be good for a while, and they spent the rest of the afternoon with Castiel helping him study.

 …

Despite the smiles and renewed energy and socializing that continued, that incident haunted Castiel.

Suicide. His mind went directly there, and though he kept trying to be his own friend, all those things he said to himself still felt true. He sucked at life. Look how he’d been handling it so far, and he was only 17. It was pathetic. _He_ was pathetic; and the words ‘ _Why are you still alive’_ replayed themselves over and over every night as he tried to sleep. As much as he was trying, for the life of him, he couldn’t answer that question.

That had happened on a Thursday, and by time he met Missouri the falling Wednesday, she took one look at him, his messy hair, his unkempt clothes, his quickly growing beard, and the dark circles under his eyes, and without any questions, she increased their appointments to twice a week again, starting the next day and being every Tuesday and Thursday as before.

He was too ashamed to tell Sam and Dean, or even Gabriel - but he had to tell Gabriel who looked not necessarily disappointed but definitely worried nonetheless. When the next day came and it was time for him to leave early from Weight Training, he only gave Dean a small smile and said, “I guess I’m not recovering after all.”

The look on Dean’s face crushed him, and he didn’t stay long enough to see Dean try to school his expression. That would have made him feel worse if he did.

He got a text from Sam later that day asking if he would like to run on Tuesday and Thursdays after his appointments, upping it up to four times a week. The next day Dean had a surprise for him in the form of a large, black water bottle that looked like a bowling pin and had **WATER VALUT** written on it. It held exactly a liter, and Dean had already filled it along with ice.

Logically, he knew Dean was trying to be extra helpful. Emotionally, he felt like Dean was trying to slowly get rid of the burden of bringing him water.

Which, he told himself, Dean should do anyway.

…

Other than Cas having to go to the doctor twice a week again, and the fact that he looked tired and sad when he thought no one was looking, he seemed perfectly normal, just like he had been for a while now.

Cas had looked so fucking broken when he said he wasn’t recovering that it scared the shit out of Dean. Sam and Dean spent that afternoon trying to come up with all the ways they could help him and theorizing what that meant for Cas to not recover. Death? Surely not. But he doubted Cas would be the same Cas Dean had gotten so close to these last couple of months.

On Friday morning, Cas walked in with his usual morning smile and immediately dived into a lively debate with Crowley about some presidential speech that was made the night before, analyzing the behavior and facial expressions of the prick.

By the end of the day, Sam suggested that maybe they made too big of a deal out of it. He seemed fine, after all.

Dean still didn’t like it, and he had half the mind to go right to Gabriel if he had to, to demand answers.

But he let it go, and onward they went.

Thanksgiving was a fantastic affair this year. Bobby deep-fired the turkey, and Dean made five different kinds of pie: cherry, blueberry, pumpkin, apple, and chocolate. Sam made several casseroles and devil eggs, and Bobby and Dean worked together on the dressing. They had a feast fit for a king when they were finished, and Dean almost ate all the pies he made by himself.

Benny came over with some left-over fireworks from 4th of July, and he, Sam, and Dean had a great time disturbing the peaceful neighborhood of families trying to enjoy a quiet holiday. They got away with it with only about ten “idjits”, so talk about a win.

Crowley came by after Benny left, and he and Dean shared a drink on the porch, having fun thinking up what the others may be doing. He nearly squirted whiskey out of his nose when Crowley mocked Castiel sighing dramatically and taking forever to get up and grab a napkin he forgot. Dean knew it wasn’t right to laugh, Castiel couldn’t help it, but damnit, that was funny.

After Crowley left, Sam, Bobby, and Dean all watched the Thanksgiving Day parade Bobby had recorded, and Sam and Dean mocked it endlessly to the point Bobby got so frustrated he just turned the “damn thang” off. But Dean saw the smile on his face, so he didn’t feel too bad.

Finally, as per their unspoken tradition, all three of them found themselves together in the kitchen around 1am for a mid-night snack, warming up the casseroles, the turkey, the dressing, and having another feast that lasted until 3am.

The rest of the break, however, was boring. Everyone else was busy with families and whatnot, and there wasn’t any work left for him in the garage, so Dean took to giving Baby to tune up, oil change, and a good polish. After that, he spent the rest of break just driving around, music blasting. Sometimes Sam would join him, once Bobby did, but mostly he was by himself.

He thought about everything: school, his family, his friends, his _life_. By the end of the break he had come to one conclusion: Dean was happy.

So, when December came, Dean set about trying to plan the perfect Christmas gifts for everyone in his life and started buying them early so he could buy a few gifts per paycheck and even save up for the big ones.

For Bobby, he bought a set of really old books on a bunch of mythology crap Bobby was into but wouldn’t ever admit.

For Sam, he bought a leather book-bag that should even last him through college.

For Charlie, the new Blueray DVD set of all the Star War movies with new commentary from the cast of the latest movie.

For Garth, he had a t-shirt made that said **I gave Zach Jackson a black eye**.

For Benny, three cappy hats and a new lunch bag that looked like a medical cooler and had a warning on it about the “hazardous” material in it.

For Kevin, a diploma frame with room to put his graduation tassel.

For Gadreel, a bunch of notepads each with a different purpose: a Get Your Shit Together pad with blank columns of “easy shit”, “tough shit”, and “oh shit”, a Self-Therapy pad that offered different sections to do your own mental analysis and an option on the bottom to check mark what his overall epiphany was, which included choices such as “I’m so fucked”, and finally an Apology pad where he can write out to whom he was apologizing and could check mark the reasons why he did whatever he’d have done, with options such as “You were pushing my button” and “I hate you.”

For Crowley, what looked like a wine bottle but was actually a case that held all the supplies one would need to properly pursue wine.

For Cas, a nice looking art kit enclosed in a dark wooden case.

And for himself, a roll of toilet paper with Donald Trump’s face on it.

He even decorated Bobby’s whole house and bought the biggest tree he could find (and could fit in the house).

The first half of December, Dean was the embodiment of the happiness and excited anticipation. He would walk about whistling Christmas songs and didn’t ever pass up the opportunity to make Christmas puns and bad jokes. Cas looked at him one day in awe and said, “I can’t remember the last time I was in the Christmas spirit, but compared to you, I now wonder if I ever was.”

Yes, Dean was happy, and he radiated from it.

Until finals slapped him across the face.

If he didn’t have Cas, he would had failed all them, he just knew it. Cas was like a walking encyclopedia, and the way he explained things actually made sense, unlike their teachers.

His favorite thing that happened during finals week, though, was when Cas finished his chem final in ten minutes flat. Midsomer graded it right then and there so she wouldn’t miss the opportunity to publicly humiliate Cas for flying through the test and getting the answers wrong since he clearly wasn’t paying attention to the questions. Instead, he got them all correct and Midsomer’s face was priceless when she was forced to give him a 100, making his official grade remain a 100, just like literally all his other classes.

Except for Art. In his Art class, Cas got a 104, and Dean couldn’t be prouder of him, especially after his little meltdown or whatever that was that day in the kitchen.

Thanks to Cas, Dean passed all his finals, and even made a A in Chemistry.

Their last final on their last day before winter break was their Current Event’s final. First half the final was written, and the second half was the final debate and vote, which would break the current tie.

As expected, Cas was the first one finished with the final, but this time not in record speed. Dean guessed it was because some of the question called his personal and political opinions, as well as the essay did. Soon, everyone was finished and the games began.

“Alright, guys, last debate. Are you ready?”

The whole class cheered.

“Now just a warning before we start – this debate will be over subject matter that is going on for real out in the real world, and the decision of which would greatly impact the lives of four students sitting in here right now. Keep that in mind before you speak,” Chuck warned, giving a very pointed look at Raphael. “If you can’t do that, I will kick you out of my classroom and you will get a 0 on this half of the final.”

Dean knew what this debate was going to be about. Him, Charlie, Cas, and Crowley all exchanged weary looks. Charlie was already wringing her hands, Crowley perching his lips, and Dean started tapping his foot. Cas, however, looked stoic.

“LGBTQA rights,” Chuck started. “The current administration wants to overturn the current law allowing all members of the LGBT+ community the right to marry. They want to make the matter no longer a federal issue but a state one. Many states have already promised to take away the right to marry as soon as they are able. Pros and cons, go.”

“It _should_ be a state issue,” a girl named Lilith spoke first. “States have a right to make the decision that impacts those who live there.”

Cas was the second to speak. “So, you’re saying you’re in favor of putting a state’s rights over the rights of a human being?”

 “You know good and well that’s not what she meant,” Ruby snapped.

“It is, actually,” Cas corrected calmly. “She has literally just expressed she’s in favor of overruling an already existing law that gives all human beings in this country a right to marry so that instead the states can preserve their perceived right to dictate such a decision.”

“Preserving states’ rights _is_ more important than fags getting a wedding and celebrating their sin,” a boy named Uriel said.

“Out,” Chuck said sternly, looking at Uriel and pointing at the door.

“What?” asked Uriel, shocked.

“I warned you, didn’t I? Insulting the LGBT community and once _again_ refusing to keep church and state separated is not thinking before speaking or anywhere near a civil debate. So, out. You will receive a 0 for this half of the final.”

Dean had never seen Chuck look so strict before. All his laid-back energy was completely gone and before them stood a man that looked like he’d destroy the world in punishment if he must. Everyone was dead quiet as Uriel packed up his things and left, mumbling something about just waiting for when his father found out. Beside Dean, Cas rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.

“Now, back to business,” Chuck motioned for them to continue.

“The right to marry isn’t the right to a wedding,” Cas stated quickly, not letting Uriel’s argument go unanswered just because of a slur and a class disruption. “We aren’t asking for large ballroom weddings with doves in the air. We’re asking for the right to legally bond with another person. The tax benefits alone from getting married should be enough to convince any Republican of its worth.”

“Yes, but they don’t want to share,” Crowley said coolly. “They want all the benefits of marriage to remain simply for heterosexuals.”

“Just because we want to try to keep the sacrality of marriage doesn’t mean we’re discriminating,” Raphael said.

“Not allowing someone something based off of an aspect of who they are is practically the definition of discrimination,” Cas retorted, causing several people to snort or huff in laughter at Raphael’s expense. “Furthermore, with divorce rates and statistics of adultery and domestic abuse, heteros have done a fine job ruining the sacrality of marriage without our help.”

Dean snickered, he couldn’t help it.

“Sacredness or not, I still think it should be a state issue,” Ruby announced.

“How so?” Cas asked, still calm, cool, and collected.

Ruby apparently didn’t expect that question because she took a moment to find an answer. “Because it’s the state’s right to make that kind of decision.”

“But you don’t think it could also be a federal right?” Kevin asked

“Federal ain’t got nothing to do with it,” retorted Raphael.

Cas sighed heavily for everyone to hear and suddenly looked very tired. He spoke, at first rubbing his forehead while he did, then eventually looking around the room:

“The jurisdictional differences between federal and state is hardly a valid argument because it is the federal courts’ job to decide disputes involving Constitutional issues and laws – which, as you should know, contains the laws for the rights of the people. The dispute currently going on is about the rights of the people. Therefore, it would, indeed, be a federal matter, not a state one. Which is why Obama passed the federal law to allow the people yet another basic human right that took America way too long to give.

“Undoing that and handing a legally federal issue over to the states is nothing short of a Republican backhand to disallow as many non-hetero marriages as possible. By doing such, they are manipulating their power to biasedly rule in order to discriminate against a group of people – which is made more ridiculous considering all the uproar is for a simple 8% of the entirety of the American population, apparently.

“By voting pro, you are actively encouraging discrimination against this minority, and blatantly showing not just the administration you so trust, but also the world, that it’s perfectly okay to abuse the system to carry out unlawful discrimination and bigotry, and that it’s perfectly okay for any administration to manipulate and bend the laws for their own wants and purposes. Regardless of your religion or thoughts of the LGBT community, you are laying down a path that will undoubtedly be used by the liberals when they eventually return to office, as we always do. A decision made from hate now will be a decision you’ll have to live with during eight years of a Democratic congress.”

Silence.

Dean didn’t think he had ever heard Cas talk so much at once, and he was shocked into silence with the rest of the class.

Crowley was the first to recovery. Clearing his throat he asked, “Anyone have anything to add?”

When no one replied, Chuck said, “Well okay then. Let’s vote.”

The vote was unanimous, and the unbridled cheer and bravo from the Blues could probably be heard throughout most of the school. Benny had even picked Cas up, spinning him while he Kevin, Sam, and Charlie started a chorus of “Well he’s a jolly good fellow!”

It took Chuck a while to get them to calm down and officially declare the Democrats that semester’s winner, taking the long held reins from the Reds, which only helped prove Cas’ point more. Chuck dismissed the class early, probably to get the damn conservatives dipshits time to lick their wounds.

So, by the end of the day, Cas made 100’s in everything except for two class, his art class and Current Events where he received a 102. They may not have been Dean’s grades, but damn it all if they didn’t make him happy. School may had been a breeze for Cas, but Cas had his own struggles this semester. If Dean had to grade Cas on his work with his kind-of-major-medical thing, he’d give Cas an A as well.


	9. Don't think I didn't notice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean rolled his eyes, jumped on top of him, and started humping him with the most ridiculous face Castiel could ever imagine: one eye closed, the other crossed, mouth open while his tongue hung out comically. Castiel laughed, tried to push him away. After he apparently felt like he had made his point, Dean rolled off. Castiel was practically giggling, Dean having rolled off much closer to Castiel than before.
> 
> “There,” Dean beamed. “No face you make will be worse than that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut and Christmas chapter! The next chapter is where Castiel starts slipping in his recovery, so fair warning. 
> 
> Please comment with things you like, but also feel free to comment with things you don't like. Any way I can make this better I will never pass up.
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> TW:  
> self-depreciating thoughts  
> depression symptoms  
> mentions of self-harm  
> erectile dysfunction caused my medication

It was mid-morning on the first day of winter break, and Castiel was already bored.

He could go downstairs and help out with the joke shop. They’ve been slammed for weeks now – who knew so many people in this town enjoyed delivering pranks for Christmas presents.

But… he had started his morning reading some fantastic smut in a fanfic Charlie got him into, and he thought of a better way to entertain himself.

An hour later, he was opening his door to Dean Winchester.

“Miss me already?” Dean said through his cocky grin.

“Yes.” Castiel didn’t even bother to try to hide what he was sure was pure lust in his eyes. Dean wiggled his eyebrows and followed Castiel upstairs to the apartment.

“Nice digs,” Dean commented, looking around and even chuckling at the disco ball. “It’s very Gabe, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Castiel said, grabbing both of Dean’s hands, walking backwards to the hall and pulling him along. “In fact, it’s too much Gabe. I think you would feel more comfortable in my room.”

“Are you trying to get me in bed, Mr. Novak?”

Castiel kicked open his door, pulling Dean in. “Well, just look at the bed, Mr. Winchester. Doesn’t it look like a bed you’d want to be in?”

Dean shut the door, practically tackling Castiel, throwing them both on the bed. “Only if you’re here too.”

“Mmm” Castiel hummed, pushing his lips on Dean’s and thrusting his hips up. He slid his tongue into Dean’s mouth rather quickly and was a little embarrassed by the sounds he was already making. But Dean tasted so good, and the pressure of Dean’s body on top his was just too delightful. His hand found their way in Dean’s back pockets. He parted his legs to allow Dean to fall between them, gripped Dean tight from where his hands where in his pockets, and pulled him down while thrusting up, causing Dean to grunt and chuckle.

“In a hurry, Cas?” Dean mumbled against his lips. Yes, yes he was. He was already a little hard when Dean got here, and he was definitely ready to go. In fact, he wanted to do something he hadn’t done in a long time.

“Take off your clothes, Dean” he ordered, already trying to undo Dean’s belt buckle.

Dean didn’t need to be told twice. He sat back and began taking off his shirt. Castiel took off his own pants and boxers, while conveniently leaving on his shirt under the pretense of being in a hurry. He flipped open a box on one of his shelves and pulled out a small bottle of lube and a condom. By time he turned back, Dean was naked, watching him, half-hard and looking very excited.

Castiel threw the items at Dean and laid down on his back, spreading his legs and lifting an arm to rest behind his head as a pillow. The other hand he had resting on his lower stomach to make sure his shirt didn’t rise up. “Whenever you’re ready, Mr. Winchester.”

“Didn’t peg you for a bottom,” Dean said in surprised, but he wasted no time in pouring some lube on his fingers and hovering back over Castiel.

“You don’t peg me for a lot of things,” Castiel whispered in what he hoped was a seductive way while capturing Dean’s lips again. The kiss turned more heated than before, and when Castiel felt a cold, lubed finger at his entrance, his heart raced with excitement. Dean didn’t seem to notice he still had his shirt on, and if he could keep Dean kissing him, he didn’t have to worry about what stupid faces he might have made. Perfect.

He realized quickly, though, he was going to have to get over the sounds he was going to make when he whimpered as Dean’s finger made its way inside. It stung more than he remembered, but then Dean broke the kiss long enough to grab Castiel’s knee and push on it a little to get Castiel in a better position, the stinging quickly started to wear off.

It seemed Dean had a lot more experience than Balthazar ever did.

“Breathin’ kinda hard there, Cas,” Dean said when his face was hovering over Castiel’s again.

“Movin’ kinda slow there, Dean,” Castiel said in reply, wanting to get to the good part.

Dean chuckled and started kissing around Castiel neck, and he worked his finger faster, stretching Castiel perfectly. Soon a second finger joined, then a third, and by that time Castiel’s head was thrown back, his eyes closed, and he was clutching the pillow on either side of his head. When Dean found that sweet, sweet spot, Castiel cried out, arching his back, all thoughts on what his face might look like thrown out the window.

“How bad you want me, Cas?” Dean whispered, voice deeper as he teased it against Castiel’s ear.

“I swear to god if you don’t get in me right fucking now…”

“Yeah? What ya gonna do?”

Just then Dean hit the sweet spot again, and Castiel whimpered, pushing down on Dean’s fingers trying to make him speed up. He let out a high moan, gripping the pillow tighter, eyes still shut tight.

Suddenly Dean’s fingers were gone, and Castiel was immediately haunted by the all-out abandoned puppy sound he made as he opened his eyes to see why Dean stopped.

Dean had sat up, the condom wrapper already between his teeth. He looked down at Castiel with wide, surprised eyes, and Castiel felt his whole face go red. He bit his lip in hopes nothing else came out.

“You…” Dean said, slowly removing the wrapping from his mouth, face going from surprised to adoring, “are hands down the most adorable creature on the planet.” He leaned down to give Castiel a quick kiss before ripping the condom wrapper open and rolling it on. He lubed himself up some, and Castiel gripped the pillow again just watching him.

When Dean hovered back over him, lining himself up, Castiel wrapped his arms underneath Dean’s armpits and grabbed onto his shoulders, hoping for the ride of his life. Dean bracketed Castiel’s head once the head of his cock was comfortably inside, using his hip bones to prop Castiel up just a little. He leaned down and placed soft kisses around Castiel’s jaw as he slowly pushed into him. Castiel’s grip tightened at the sensation.

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean moaned once he was fully seated. “Do you have any idea how great you feel?”

Castiel let out a breathy laugh, higher than usual. “If it’s half as good as you feel, then yeah, I do got an idea. Move, please. Please, please, move.”

Dean chuckled. He started slow but quickly picked up the pace. He laid his forehead on Castiel’s, and they both shared their breaths, moaning and breathing hard as Dean thrusted, Castiel’s knees brushing against Dean’s sides with each one.

So many things were circling around in Castiel’s mind, and despite how fantastic this felt and how much Castiel wanted this, his anxieties started rising up.

And the monster spoke.

_You’re just a fucking hole._

_Everything is going to change after this. He’s finally getting to fuck you, and he’ll be done after this. This is why he was so adamant to be your friend. Especially after you just fucking gave it up twice already. Now he’s really fucking you –_

Stop. Stop. He needed those thoughts to stop.

Castiel’s heart was beating quickly, his palms were sweaty, and he could feel beads of sweat from Dean’s forehead dripping down on him. Dean wasn’t as worked up as Castiel when he came over, and Castiel’s anxieties were holding him off, so this was lasting. It could be good. It could be so, so good.

“Dean,” he whined. “D-Dean, please… T-tell me this… This doesn’t change us?”

Dean’s rhythmed flattered.

“What?” Dean breathed. He felt Dean’s forehead scrunch up before he pulled up a little to look at him. The headboard was starting to bang gently against the wall.

“This… say it won’t change us.”

Dean leaned down, capturing Castiel’s lips –  soft and gentle contradicting from the thrusts Dean seemed unable to stop. “We ain’t changed, Cas. Nothing’s gonna change.”

Castiel nodded, holding on tighter, ducking his head in the crook of Dean’s neck to focus just on the feeling. Dean seemed tensed, but when Castiel let out another whimper following by a low moan, biting Dean’s shoulder to try to block out the embarrassing sounds and keep his face hidden, Dean seemed to relax and continued with full-force.

The headboard was banging against the wall louder now. Dean let out a broken moan, and Castiel heard a few books fall from the shelves above.

“Cas…” Dean warned. Dean was close, and Castiel needed to catch up.

“Touch me,” Castiel _begged_.

Dean fumbled a bit in his rush to obey, fisting Castiel was the fingers still wet with lube, stroking quickly with his rhythm.

It did the trick. Castiel couldn’t stop himself from throwing his head back, letting out a loud cry as he came, splattering his green shirt. Dean followed, and his embarrassment about all his sounds was eased when Dean _screamed_ , “ _JESUS, CAS_.”

Castiel licked dry lips and tried to work up enough saliva in his panting mouth. The heavy breathing took quite a while to calm down, and it was only when Dean released his hair that Castiel realized how hard he was pulling it. Eventually Dean pulled out of him and rolled over onto the edge of the bed. By time Castiel was finally able to uncurl his toes, he heard Dean snort.

“Dude, we didn’t even stop to take off your shirt.”

Castiel grinned to himself, keeping his eyes closed. “It caught my cum, so I’m not complaining.”

They fell back into silence until Castiel didn’t feel nearly as sweaty, and he felt Dean turn to look at him. “Hey, Cas?”

Castiel sighed contently, turning to face him. “Yes, Dean?”

Dean looked just as sated as Castiel felt, but his brows was knitted. “Why would you think anything would change between us?”

Castiel swallowed and could feel his eyes dart back and forth between Dean’s eyes, wondering how exactly he should answer. He was too relaxed to bring up his anxieties, but he was also too relaxed to try to lie. He could barely lie anyway. Just avoid truths. Or sum up a situation without giving the whole truth.

“Previous experience,” he settled on.

Dean studied him for a moment, then smiled. “I aint’ expecting anything, Cas. I’ve been too burned for more anyway, and I know you’re going through a lot right now.”

“Burned?” Castiel asked, adjusting his hips slightly to be more comfortable.

Dean rolled his eyes and cleared his throat. “My ex. She cheated on me and got pregnant.” Dean seemed to immediately backtrack, “Like…It’s cool now. Dude was a dick, to both me and her, but I didn’t take her back. She’s gone now, living with her grandparents. Her parents were dicks, too, but I helped her get things sorted out. She gave birth, though, last month. Baby boy, named Ben.”

Castiel could feel himself frown. He felt his jaw clench, but he decided it was best to stay out of it. It was Dean’s past, it was done, and if Dean ever found himself in that situation again while Castiel knew him, then he could give an opinion. “My experience wasn’t quite like that… I am, however, thankful to be gay. Rarely are there accidental children.”

Dean laughed, and they began joking, talking, Dean lying there naked, Castiel almost naked, staying close together, faces just inches apart. For some reason, this made them both more open, and though the conversation remained light, neither seemed to mind talking about more important, personal things.

Dean told him briefly about his parents, and they both had an unspoken, impromptu moment of silence for their dead mothers. Dean wondered out loud if John was still alive, and Castiel made a joke about both their fathers meeting at a bar and bonding over disappointing sons. Dean tried to ask about Castiel’s father, and Castiel understood the curiosity. As far as Castiel knew, Dean only knew his father was a preacher and, well, alive. But he changed the subject, telling Dean about a prank Gabriel played on their father during one of their Thanksgivings when he was little.

Slowly, maybe because they were naked, the conversation started turning toward sex.

“What’s with the biting, anyway?” Dean asked. He was smiling, his arm bent beneath his head as a pillow, Castiel mirroring him, both their free arms and hands laying lazily between them - very close but not quite touching.

“Oh…” Castiel said, looking down. “You, uh… do you not like – “

“I fucking love it,” Dean said, making Castiel meet his eyes again, noting his grin. “I just wondered because you aren’t really… I don’t know, like that, with the rest of it.”

Castiel could feel himself tense, again avoiding Dean’s eyes as he shrugged.

“Oh, come on,” Dean whined. “I’m lying here naked for Christ’s sake. You can tell me.”

Castiel started to feel himself blush. “I just… It’s embarrassing, you know?”

“The biting? It’s fucking hot, man.”

Castiel laughed nervously and shook his head. “The sounds I make… I can’t even imagine what my face might look like… I just, I don’t know. Try to block it.”

Dean snorted, making Castiel looked at him again. “First off, the sounds you make a fucking amazing, and don’t you ever block them. Second, what you mean about your face?”

Castiel shrugged again, but this time not looking away. “I’m sure I look stupid.”

“Stupid?”

Castiel gulped again and nodded, laying his insecurities down while he felt comfortable enough to do so.

Dean rolled his eyes, jumped on top of him, and started humping him with the most ridiculous face Castiel could ever imagine: one eye closed, the other crossed, mouth open while his tongue hung out comically.  Castiel laughed, tried to push him away. After he apparently felt like he had made his point, Dean rolled off. Castiel was practically giggling, Dean having rolled off much closer to Castiel than before.

“There,” Dean beamed. “No face you make will be worse than that.”

Castiel chuckled, smiling widely, staring at Dean in disbelief. “No,” he agreed.

“And, if we do this again, if you feel self-conscious about your face, just look at mine. I guarantee mine would be worse. Plus!” he added, face lighting up and giving Castiel a quick kiss. “The stupider the face, the hotter it is, because I know _I_ made you make that face. Ain’t nothin’ else hotter.”

Castiel snickered, letting himself worm his arms around Dean’s waist and pull him a little closer. “I can think of something else hotter.”

“Oh yeah,” Dean asked, quirking a brow.

Castiel actually spoke without really thinking, but there was just something about Dean… Since he had known him, Dean didn’t once look at him harshly or judgmentally. Dean had gone out of his way to show Castiel he accepted him, and to help Castiel accept his friends and himself. But still, he was nervous, and he knew it showed on his face.

“Oh, come on,” Dean encouraged, wiggling his arms around Castiel as well. “If there’s something hot we can do, you definitely need to tell me.”

Castiel cleared his throat, looking at Dean’s chin instead of his eyes. “I may have some toys…”

He felt Dean’s grip tighten. “Oh my god, yes. What toys?”

The reaction made Castiel laugh and react some. “I may have a vibrating dildo and a fleshlight that if use while we…” Castiel let himself trail off, really hoping Dean was agreeable.

Judging by his face, he definitely was.

If that wasn’t enough, Castiel could feel Dean’s dick by his twitch.

“Please?” Dean asked, making Castiel laugh again.

“Okay,” he said. “You pick who’s bottom, but I still get to work you open.”

Dean nodded, a smile working his way on his face. “I’m bottom,” he grinned.

Castiel actually sighed in relief with Dean being so agreeable. Hell, he had wanted to do this with someone since he admitted he was gay. Castiel nodded.

One thing Castiel admired about Dean was that it didn’t take Dean long at all to get worked up. This definitely came to Castiel’s advantage when it came to his shirt. A simple, “What, you don’t want to see the cum you fucked out of me earlier?” was enough ensure his shirt stayed on, and with Castiel literally topping time, there was so much less of a chance for his shirt to ride up. To add to Castiel’s admiration, Dean also apparently wasn’t much of a lube guy. He preferred to suck Castiel to full salute, then have Castiel push in with no prep, going very slowly. Castiel did insist on just a little bit of lube on the condom, but that was only because he was a little worried having never done it this way before.

Once Castiel bottomed out, he lubed up the vibrator, and Dean helped him push it in. With the fleshlight, Dean did want some lube, and when they both were fully seated in every way, they paused to catch their breath.

“Oh, Jesus fuck, this is going to be amazing,” Dean moaned.

“If it’s not, I blame you,” Castiel teased, reaching over to turn on the vibrator. It buzzed to life, making Castiel’s hip twitch, causing the vibrator to hit his prostrate while apparently Castiel’s cock rubbed against Dean’s.

“You were saying?” Dean breathed.

Castiel started a slow rhythm, and Dean followed his pace with the fleshlight. In no time at all, the headboard started banging softly again. Castiel really needed to find out what was loose on that damned thing if he was going to be having regular sex in his room.

Dean was right, this was definitely amazing. Dean felt wonderful around his dick, and the vibrator moved gently inside him with his thrust, hitting his prostrate every now and then. It felt incredible, and Castiel wasn’t even ashamed of the, “uh, uh, uh,” pouring out of his mouth.

Then something horrifying happened. That edge he was climbing so close to started slipping away.

“Fuck,” Castiel groaned, pounding down harder and faster in Dean, trying to chase the orgasm slipping from him. This only happened when he masturbated. Every time he had been with Dean, Castiel seemed to have no problem finishing.

_That goddamn, fucking medication._

This was unacceptable. How could any FDA approve something with the side-effects being this unfair? The worst part was that Dean was clearly having no problem getting close. No. Castiel would not be this humiliated. Thankful Dean seemed fine working the fleshlight by himself, Castiel dove a hand down between them and gripped Dean at the base of his cock behind his balls.

“Dude, what the f-f-uck?” Dean accused, sounding both curious and annoyed.

Jumping to the sexiest thing he could think of, Castiel whispered as sternly as he could, “Not until I say so.”

Dean’s moan was loud and filthy. Apparently, some slight submissiveness and/or cum denial was something Dean liked. Noted. That thrilled Castiel with future possibilities, and he allowed his mind to wander in hopes of getting back some orgasmic momentum.

It didn’t work.

After about five minutes of ruthless pounding as he just got softer and softer, Castiel finally admitted defeat. Dean withering, squirming, moaning, begging underneath him was just shy of cruel if Castiel didn’t stop soon. He barely let go of his grip on Dean’s cock before Dean was spilling over.

Dean moaned, long and dragged out, and went completely limp. Okay, Castiel felt kind of bad. He took out his frustration on the man. What was it he was supposed to do in this kind of situation? Aftercare, wasn’t it?

Castiel gently pulled out of him and removed the fleshlight. Dean had his eyes closed and didn’t seem to acknowledge Castiel at all. Maybe Castiel would get away with his dysfunction.

As quickly as he could, he removed the condom and vibrator, put on his boxers and changing his shirt with his back towards the bed. Next, he jogged into the kitchen to grab a couple bottles of water, then to the bathroom where he wetted a washcloth with warm water, then another with cold water.

Dean was still where he left him when he got back. His breathing had even out some more, but he still looked dazed out. With as much care as he could, Castiel wiped off the cum with the warm washcloth, then Dean’s sweat with the cold one.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice,” Dean eventually said, voice sounding rough.

“Hm?” Castiel hummed as he guided Dean to sit up enough to sip some water.

“You didn’t finish,” Dean stated simply, drinking down half the bottle in one go.

Castiel shrugged, going for nonchalant. That didn’t seem to be a satisfying enough answer for Dean, who pointedly glanced down at Castiel’s crotch then quirked an eyebrow. Castiel sighed and rolled his eyes, feeling absolutely humiliated. “Medicine, y’know,” he mumbled.

“What, your meds?” Dean asked.

Castiel nodded, opening his own water bottle and taking a drink.

“Dude, that sucks.”

“Tell me about it.”

Dean finished his water bottle, tossed it in the trash bin with precision, and said, “Well, next time you can, I’d be happy to repay the favor.”

Castiel frowned at Dean’s wink. “Favor?”

“Yeah, y’know… For a mind-blowing sex.” Dean laid back, eyes slipping closed again. Pride definitely swelled a bit in Castiel. Mind-blowing. He might be thoroughly sexually frustrated, as well as sexually pissed off, but even so, he gave enough to be mind-blowing. He’d take it.  

…

The next day of break was Christmas Eve. Castiel picked Michael up from the airport around noon and warned him about the crowd swarming the Trickster. Michael seemed amused by the town’s prankster Christmas spirit, but announced that he, too, had to work that day, so that he was afraid he wouldn’t be that much fun.

That was fine with Castiel. While Michael settled down in the kitchen with his laptop and files, Castiel gave him privacy to work and went to his room. He spent most of his day reading fanfics on his phone and enjoyed a good dinner with his, albeit exhausted, brothers.

Gabriel had decorated the entire apartment, and the giant Christmas tree stood almost right in front of the hall, overflowing with more presents every day. When Castiel noticed just before finals that most of the presents had his name on it, he went about buying more and more for his brothers to make it even. Unfortunately, when he looked again before bed, Michael had included a lot more, and Castiel felt uncomfortably spoiled.

He awoke the next morning by Gabriel’s booming voice: “THANK YOU, SANTA CLAUS!” Castiel was willing to bet money that Gabriel bellowed that right into Michael’s sleeping ear on the couch, and judging by the look on Michael’s face when Castiel joined them in the living room, he was right.

Gabriel at some point during the night lined a wall with three giant stockings absolutely overflowing with candies, chocolates, cakes, and strangely enough, candles that, not strangely enough, were all candy or otherwise sweet-food scented. Michael seemed positively overwhelmed and wondered out loud how he was supposed to fly everything back home.

They cooked and ate a giant breakfast of pancakes, waffles, bacon, sausages, eggs, fruit, toast, and orange juice crammed together on the counter, Michael and Castiel laughing over how serious Gabriel took his syrup to pancake ratio. Michael insisted they clean up their breakfast mess before presents, to Gabriel’s great dismay, but Castiel felt better with that behind them so that they could just focus on presents and not have chores looming overhead.

Michael was floored when he saw how many presents he had, and Castiel had a feeling that Gabriel given him as much as Castiel did out of guilt for the huge fight about Castiel they had last summer.

Once all the presents were handed out, they took turns opening them, throwing the wrapping paper out the door and down the stairs to make it “easier” to haul it all off to the dumpster later.

The funniest moment of the whole morning was when the huge present Gabriel demanded Michael open last turned out to be a huge rolling suit case for Michael to take all his presents home. Castiel laughed so hard at Michael’s you-can’t-be-serious face, his eyes watered.

Castiel’s favorite thing he had gotten from his brothers was a necklace given to him by Michael. It was a simple silver chain and an oval shape, flat silver piece of metal with **The truth lies;** engraved on it. He recognized the “;” meaning right away and had to excuse himself for a few moments to compose himself.

The most useful thing he got was from Gabriel, which was his co-signature on a small car loan so Castiel could, as Gabriel put it, “stop stealing mine all the damn time”. Michael promised to go with him the next day to pick out a car from the used car lot in town before he left.

The biggest surprise came that evening with the sound of the doorbell. The task of opening the door was made far more difficult with the tremendous amount of wrapping paper at the bottom of the stairs. With several hold on’s and just a minute’s, Gabriel answered the door.

His singing-song voice floated up into the living room. “Oh Caaaaaassie, it’s for yoooooou.” Castiel and Michael glanced at each once before they heard stumbling footsteps and few curses coming from the stairs.

 “Jesus, how many people did you have over?” Dean asked incredulously, jerking his thumb over his shoulder towards the stairs once he emerged. “I almost broke my neck.”

“Oh, calm down,” Gabriel chastised, shoving past Sam and Dean, and it was only then that it embarrassingly occurred to Castiel that Gabriel was still wearing his fuzzy, onesie pajamas. Green with pictures of candy-canes on it.  Castiel himself was still in sweat pants and holey tee. Michael, of course, was dressed in nice dark jeans and simple red sweater.

Michael introduced himself and joined Gabriel at the kitchen counter to give them some privacy.

Sitting down next to Cas on the couch, Sam smiled, “Seriously, though, it looks like you guys had a hell of a good time. Did the whole town come?”

“No, it was just the three of us.” He chuckled as both Sam and Dean gaped at him, Dean sitting in the armchair by Sam. “We all got into a…. who-could-give-the-most-presents war of some kind. Gabriel was victorious, and I came in third, but…” he trailed off, letting his smile drop. “I’m afraid the present war made me forget about others. Please tell me those aren’t for me.” He gestured to the big wrapped gift in Dean’s lap and the medium size one in Sam’s.

“Yep, they sure are,” Dean grinned.

“Oh no, no, I don’t have anything for you. I’m so sorry, it didn’t occur to - “

Sam and Dean cut him off with twin smiles and shakes of the head.

“We don’t care about that, Cas,” Sam assured him.

“Sure don’t. Now open!” Dean was beaming, the Christmas spirit wafting out of his pores.

Sam got him a runner’s belt that came with a runner’s water bottle and a new arm band for his phone. Dean got a beautiful case of art supplies, ranging from pencils to charcoal to paints and even some clay. To say he was overwhelmed would be an understatement. He was dumbfounded; he didn’t know what to say.

“And to think, you didn’t get them anything,” Gabriel mocked. Michael and Gabriel had moved and were now standing behind the couch to see what he had gotten.

“How dare you, Castiel,” Michael feigned disappointment. “I raised you better than that.”

Castiel rolled his eyes and pointed to his very large (largest if he was honest) pile of presents overflowing from the hallway. “By the looks of it, you raised a spoiled brat.”

Gabriel and Michael howled with laughter, joined by Sam and Dean once they saw what he was pointing at.

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean nodded to his brother, “how about next year we have a present war?”

“You’re so on,” Sam accepted.

Sam and Dean stayed for a Christmas dessert, insisted by Castiel who felt very guilty he didn’t have anything for them in return. Later, both Michael and Castiel sent them home with bags of half their stocking treasure. Gabriel pretended to be hurt by the gesture, but when Sam reminded Gabriel that Dean would most likely eat them all and his brothers probably wouldn’t, Gabriel rewarded Sam with a candle scented like marshmallows.

It was the best Christmas Castiel had had in a long time.

The next morning, Michael woke him up bright and early to go car shopping. After a few hours, he finally found one he liked – a Continental. However, Michael immediately dismissed it, and when Castiel kept defending his decision, Michael called Gabriel to back him up, who texted Dean, who called Castiel to tell him in no uncertain terms that he was not allowed to buy a pimp’mobile. Defeated, Castiel eventually ended up going with a ’99 Chevy Camaro – to Gabriel’s delight. The small car proved difficult to load all of Michael’s things, but they managed. They hugged goodbye at the airport, and Castiel beamed when Michael told him he was proud of him.

Castiel stopped by Sam and Dean’s to show off his new car before heading home, but Bobby wouldn’t let him leave without him thoroughly checking the car first. With his and Dean’s stamp of approval, Castiel finally made it from one hell of a successful and exhausting day.

The last successful day he’d have all break.


	10. Are you ignoring me with porn?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Jesus fuck,” Dean said out loud, causing Crowley and Garth on either side of him to look over. Dean hurriedly put away his phone and just shrugged and shook his head at their questioning stares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another shout out to my beautiful beta.
> 
> This is the turning point chapter where Castiel starts to slip, so again, fair warning. Please, please, please comment if you like this. I'm needy.
> 
> TW:  
> self harm  
> depression symptoms  
> depressive thoughts  
> self depreciation  
> erectile dysfunction caused my medication

The next day, Castiel woke up late. He thought about going down to the shop, but he was comfortable where he was. He deserved a break, right? He had been working his ass off lately. He was pretty much decided he wanted to pursue art in college, which meant he needed a hell of a good portfolio. His main routine of late, when not being dragged out by friends or Gabriel and his shop, would be to come home and work on piece after piece, tiring himself out trying to make them perfect.

Not to mention fighting against his disorder for months.

Yes, he decided he deserved a break. So, instead of doing anything else, Castiel spent the day lounging on the couch, reading on his phone: some fanfiction, some kindle books.

He had a lot he wanted to get done over the break, including making at least one more art piece and a lot of research on colleges. He wanted to go somewhere close to either Michael or Gabriel, that much he knew. But he hadn’t decided anything else.

He had all week to do it. It was only Tuesday, school started back in one week from today, so why push it? Plus, he didn’t even have therapy this week – the week was completely his own.

He didn’t change his clothes all day, and he didn’t shower.

The next day he woke up a little early for his liking, so it only stood to reason to relax and lounge in bed, letting himself daydream of stories he had read or what college would be like. When it got to be around 11, he decided food would be nice, and made his way to the kitchen. Only then did he realize he didn’t eat dinner the night before.

He shrugged. Guess he wasn’t hungry. He did, however, make a couple of new cuts on his stomach, and that sated him mostly.

After having four sandwiches and half of a family size bag of chips, Castiel flopped himself down on the couch and resumed reading. He got a text from Gadreel, but he just swiped it away. He wasn’t much in the mood for people.

That night when Gabriel came home, all chirpy and talkative, Castiel excused himself to his bedroom. Not that he didn’t want to talk to Gabriel, he was just in a middle of a really good fic and wanted to stay in that universe for a while.

He cut three times that night, albeit not so deep, which he considered improvement.

Again, he didn’t change his clothes, and he didn’t take a shower.

The next day on Thursday, he had plans to run with Sam and to have dinner at Kevin’s. But he was tired. He still had plenty of days left on his break, and he had been working so hard lately. After all, this was a _break_. Why couldn’t he take a break from all the things he was supposed to do for his disorder? Not that he counted dinner at Kevin’s as that, but since he really wasn’t in a socializing mood, even with Ms. Tran, it certainly felt that way.

Yes, he deserved a break, so he called to cancel with Ms. Tran and sent a text to cancel with Sam. Sam texted back an okay and asking if he was alright. Castiel sent back a thumbs-up emoji and a smile and left it at that.

When Gabriel came up for lunch and noticed Castiel still on the couch and still in the same pajama bottoms and shirt, he gave Castiel a funny look. When he returned after work to find Castiel in the same spot, he looked concerned.

“Don’t you have dinner with the Trans tonight?”

Castiel grunted and shrugged. “It was canceled.”

“Okay,” said Gabriel. Castiel wasn’t looking up at him anymore, but he could feel Gabriel studying him. “Well,” he continued after a moment, “that’s perfect timing! You get to come with me to Omar’s!”

Castiel groaned. “What? No, Gabriel. I don’t feel like going out.”

“Oh, come on! Please? I already have my meal ordered, and Rebecca can’t make it.”

“No, Gabriel,” Castiel said more firmly.

Gabriel got on knees, locking his hands and fingers together in a desperate prayer pose, and crawled over to Castiel saying, “Please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please - “

Realizing Gabriel wasn’t beyond doing this until Castiel cracked, Castiel heaved an annoyed sigh and agreed.

His hair looked a little greasy, and he didn’t smell all that good. But showering felt like such a _chore_. Instead he left his clothes in a disgruntled heap on his bedroom floor, grabbed some clean clothes and a beanie, and, double-checking that Gabriel wasn’t in the hall, dashed naked across into the bathroom. He grabbed a washcloth, squirted some body-soap on it, and took a very quick sponge bath over the bathroom sink. It helped some. Then he dressed, put on a beanie to cover his oily hair, and sprayed himself down with some Axe body spray. After brushing his teeth since he was pretty sure he didn’t do it that today, he deemed himself ready.

Gabriel talked their entire dinner, and by time the food arrived, Castiel was sick of hearing his voice. He pulled out his phone and opened one of the many fics he was reading. After a few moments when Gabriel seemed to realize he wasn’t going to put his phone away, Gabriel snatched it up to see what was so interesting.

Gabriel was expressionless as he read a few lines, then deadpanned when he looked at Castiel and asked, “Are you ignoring me with porn?”

“Maybe,” Castiel grinned.

“Pheeeeeeeeew” Gabriel dramatically wiped fake sweat from his forehand as he flopped Castiel’s phone down. “And here I thought I’d never find solid proof we’re related.”

Castiel chuckled and took his phone back. Gabriel kept talking while Castiel kept reading, both too stubborn to call a truce.

When he got home, Castiel slouched out of his clothes and put on a clean pair of boxers, clean sweats, and clean tee. He cut himself badly enough to need extra gauze that night, but fell asleep feeling comfortable and happy.

The next day, Gabriel wasn’t working, so Castiel spent most of the day in his room, only coming out to get lunch: a giant size bowl of spaghetti and a whole loaf of garlic bread. Gabriel looked at him funny again, but didn’t comment.

So what if it was a lot? It was becoming a pattern that week to have a huge lunch and nothing else all day. He got the calories he needed, so, so the fuck what?

When he was finished eating, he noted the amount of dishes piling up in his room, thought about bringing them out, but was immediately distracted by what he was reading – this time an actual book, a murder mystery.

He got texts from Sam, Dean, and Charlie that day, but he didn’t read them. He was comfortable and happy just as he was right now. So what if he didn’t actually do any of the things he wanted to do during winter break? They weren’t things of great importance, right? Just stuff he thought he wanted to do. The world wouldn’t end if he didn’t do any of it.

And again, he deserved a break.

He noted when he went to relieve himself later that night that his back was sore and his elbows were tender. He guessed that what he got for spending all day on his stomach with his elbows propping him up.

When it got late and Gabriel had gone to bed, Castiel put down his phone, grabbed his razor blade, and laid back down, letting his mind daydream about the book he was reading and writing his own scenes in his head. He didn’t realize he made five cuts this time. He was going to have to be careful, or he would run out of room.

The next day, Sam called, and Castiel ignored it. Only then was he forced to look at Sam’s text from yesterday asking Castiel if they were still running tomorrow, aka, today. Castiel texted back, apologizing for “missing” his call, and told him he was taking the weekend off. They could resume when school did.

Whatever Sam texted back, Castiel didn’t bother to read. He knew he was disappointing his friend, and he couldn’t bring himself to face it.

As the afternoon came around, Gabriel started banging on his door.

“What?” Castiel barked when he opened it, not letting Gabriel in or see too much of his room since he couldn’t remember where he left his razor blade.

“Why don’t you start getting ready for tonight? It’s New Year’s Eve! I’m sure you and friends have big plans. Right?” He asked that last part wearily, like he didn’t want to know the answer.

This was annoying. Couldn’t people just give him some space?

Knowing that Gabriel wouldn’t stop pestering him until Castiel did what he wanted, and also knowing that Gabriel was going to a big party tonight and wouldn’t be home to catch him in a lie – almost lie Castiel was about 100% positive his friends were going to do something that night -Castiel forced a smile and said, “Yeah. But it’s not starting until late, so I still got some time.” Time to decide if he would answer any of their texts, that was.

Gabriel looked relieved. “Sweet! I’m heading out to hang with Sally and Joe before the party. What time will you be leaving?”

“Uh… eight, I think? Earlier if-“ pick a friend, pick a friend, pick a friend “-uh, if Charlie needs help getting everything set up.” That wasn’t so much a lie. Charlie was always helping decorate, and if he was going to go somewhere, he doubted he would leave before eight anyway.

Gabriel beamed at him. He never seemed able to read Castiel when he was actually afraid of the truth. Castiel wondered if he should be concerned with that, but for now, he was going to use it to his advantage. “Okay! I probably won’t be home until tomorrow afternoon or something. Text me if you need anything, but fair warning, I will be very drunk tonight. Also, remember, don’t drink and drive.”

“I know, I know,” Castiel grinned. “I might hit a bump and spill it.”

“Good boy. See you next year!” He chuckled, turning away and leaving.

“Be safe, Gabriel,” he called after him.

Once he was gone, Castiel sat on his bed, a war going on in his head.

He had just wanted to stay where he was. He had been greatly enjoying himself all break, taking it easy, letting himself finally just relax and just be. But… he had forgotten about alcohol. He had so much fun on Halloween, the parts he could remember anyway. Gabriel didn’t care if he drank, as long as it was not a problem or anything and he didn’t do it often. He could just drink some of Gabriel’s stash, watch the ball drop and chill out happily buzzed on the couch without having to leave.

But if he went to the party – because there was no way his friends weren’t celebrating – there was also Dean. Remembering the amazing blowjob that also happened on Halloween made up his mind for him.

He finally checked his texts, and sure enough, there was one from Dean inviting him to his house for New Years since Bobby would be at the Roadhouse, and one from Charlie asking if he was going because she needed a New Years’ kiss. The one from Gadreel earlier that week that Castiel was just now reading had been asking Castiel if he knew of any party going on.

He texted Gadreel first letting him know of Dean’s although he was pretty sure he knew by now.

Then one to Charlie saying yes, he’d be there, and he’d be happy to be her New Years’ kiss as long as she behaved and didn’t use tongue. That solicited a middle finger and grossed-out-face emoji from her.

Then a big yes to Dean, asking what time he should be there.

With a breath, he finally looked at Sam’s text. Sam had said he guessed Castiel had earned a break, but let him know if he changed his mind.

There. Validation. Castiel had earned a break. Everyone else was taking this week off to _break_ , to do things that made them happy and that they enjoyed. Castiel was no different.

Dean texted back and said everyone was getting there around 7, so Castiel had plenty of time. Unfortunately, it was plenty of time that he used poorly, he noticed later that evening when he looked up and it was 6:50. He was most definitely planning on getting some kind of action tonight, so he had to shower.

He sighed heavily, feeling energy drain just from thinking about it, but the potential for an orgasm from a beautiful man was too good to pass up. He sent a text to Dean saying he was going to be late and got up. He left his clothes on the floor, adding to the pile, and walked naked into the bathroom.

After his shower, he studied himself in the mirror. He looked tired, which was stupid since he had been doing nothing but resting. His body was sore too. There were bags under his eyes and he definitely looked a little paler. He also had a short beard now. He wondered when that happened.

But shaving was pushing it. He was clean, that was what mattered. He brushed his teeth, noting they weren’t as white as before, so he took the time to use mouthwash as well. They weren’t yellow or anything, but they weren’t pearly white.

Compared to the clean smell of the bathroom, his room was starting to stink. Dirty clothes littered the floor, dishes were piling up, but Castiel panicky and quickly dismissed the comparison of his old room back at Michael’s. He wasn’t like how he was at Michael’s. He was better. Improving.

He allowed one good cut before he carefully bandaged his lower stomach and changed into a dark pair of jeans, a black thermal long-shelve, and a jacket.

For good measure, he went ahead and took his nighttime medicine, skipping the sleeping pill like he did on Halloween.

He made it to Dean’s a little before 8. Eh, not too late.

“Hey!” Dean greeted him with a big smile.

“Please tell there’s liquor,” was Castiel’s greeting, although he did return the smile. He slipped his jacket off as Dean closed the door.

“You okay?” Dean asked, taking Castiel’s jacket and throwing one of the hooks beside the door.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” Castiel asked.

Dean shrugged, “You look a little off and the first thing you said was asking for liquor.”

Castiel didn’t want to think about the implications of what Dean said, so he did the first thing he thought of. He shut him up with a kiss – a kiss that got more heated than Castiel originally meant. But hey, that was a great thing about getting better – he got to be in the mood way more often. It was staying the mood that seemed to be the problem now.

“Damn,” Dean breathed when he broke the kiss.

Belatedly answering Dean’s question, Castiel said, “I’m perfect now, Dean.”

Dean chuckled. “Does this mean I’m getting lucky tonight?”

“Very, very lucky,” Castiel growled, biting Dean’s bottom lip making him moan.

“Ahem,” came a voice beside them. With Dean’s lip still stuck between Castiel’s teeth, they both turned their heads as far as they could to look at a very smug Sam standing in the doorway, arms crossed and shaking his head. “You owe me twenty dollars, Dean. You swore nothing was going on between you two.”

Castiel let Dean’s lip slide out from between his teeth and gave Sam a smirk. “How do you know this wasn’t our first kiss?”

Dean huffed beside him, arms still around his waist. “Yeah, Sammy. One of the best first kisses of my life, and you ruined it.”

But Sam wasn’t fazed, just cocked a brow. “Bite mark, Dean? Remember that?”

“Damn,” Dean mumbled, dropping his arms to his side. “Alright, you caught us.”

Castiel chuckled, “Well the good news is, when we disappear for an hour or so tonight, Sam can cover for us.”

Sam smugness slid off his face immediately and seemed to land on Dean’s face instead. “What? No!”

“Either that, Sammy, or you get to tell the group we’re off fucking into the mattress-“

“Okay, okay!” Sam lifted his hands, cutting Dean off. “How do my victories always end up biting me in the ass?”

“Because we’re sore loser,” Castiel answered him simply.

Sam smiled and huffed a laugh. “That’s exactly it. Well, come on in, the gang’s all here.”

After about an hour and two drinks later, Castiel and Dean did indeed sneak off to Dean’s room. Dean’s room was simple and neat, a few posters on the wall, a full-sized bed in the middle of the room. A lamp on the bedside table was the only light as Dean pressed him hard against the door. Dean seemed too intent on getting down to business than turning on any other lights.

Castiel’s brain naturally filtered through unsuspicious ways to keep his shirt on. The best way with Dean, it continued to seem, was to get him worked up very quickly. He loved bottoming for Dean, so he quickly pushed Dean towards the bed, stepped out of his jeans and underwear quickly, and had Dean’s jeans and briefs halfway down his thigh as Castiel straddled him.

“Always in a hurry, Cas?” Dean smirked, winking up at him.

Castiel stroke Dean, bringing him to full hardness. “With this beautiful cock, how could I not be?”

His words seemed to encourage Dean, and before he knew it, Dean was fully seated. Castiel was bottoming from the top, and just the thought of bouncing on Dean made Castiel leak with pre-cum.

It was perfect; it was wonderful; it felt so, so good, which was why when Castiel felt his orgasm slipping away from him again, he bounced harder and faster than he thought his thighs capable.

“Cas?” Dean asked.

Castiel moaned in frustrated rather than pleasure, throwing him head back and trying to chase the feeling. He felt Dean’s hand on him almost immediately, and Dean kept him balanced until Dean was cumming inside him. His orgasm had Dean faltering, and Castiel gave up.

He apparently just wasn’t getting some tonight.

He pulled off Dean and went searching for his clothes without looking at him. Once he was in his boxers, Dean spoke up. “You okay there, Cas?”

Castiel just grunted in reply, slipping on his jeans.

“You aren’t mad at me, are you?”

That had Castiel snapping his head towards Dean who was now sitting on his bed, tucked away and studying Castiel. “Of course not. Why would I be?”

“Well, I just can’t seem to hold on long enough,” Dean shrugged, and an honest to god blush dusted his cheeks.

Castiel shook his head, finishing zipping his jeans. “No, Dean. It’s not your fault. I told you why.”

Dean got up and wrapped his arms around Castiel, pulling him into a loose embrace while resting their foreheads together. “Is there anything I can do?”

Other than sucking out all of Castiel’s humiliation, of course there wasn’t. He needed his medication. He was getting better. A lot better, right? So, he needed his medication. This was a truly inhumane side effect, but there was nothing to be done. He could bring it up next doctor’s visit, but that was about the most anyone could do.

Regardless, something inside him still really enjoyed getting Dean off.

“You can let me make you cum as many times as possible tonight.”

Dean pulled back and looked at him, surprised. “What?”

“Look, Dean…” He rubbed Dean’s shoulders, watching his hands instead of looking Dean in the eye. “It’s clearly frustrating for me, of course, but I need my medicine. And even though I don’t finish, being able to make _you_ cum is a lot of fun.” He finally looked up. “So, let’s have some fun tonight.”

Dean looked unsure. “I don’t know, Cas. I feel kind of bad –“

“Don’t,” Castiel cut him off. “It’s more embarrassing being pitied because of it.”

Dean snorted and nodded. “Yeah… Yeah, that I can get.”

“Good,” Castiel said, stepping back. “Then it’s decided.”

Before Dean could say anything else, he put back on his socks, and gathered his shoes, planning on leaving them by the front door, then exited.

…

Not being able to be aroused, Castiel allowed himself to enjoy the party, playing games with his friends and drinking. He had meant what he said about wanting to make Dean cum as many times as possible, but during a game of _Joking Hazzard_ , Castiel got another idea.

**[Delivered 10:11 PM]**

**I changed my mind, Dean.**

He watched Dean get the text, and he was surprised to find Dean looked disappointed, guilty, and even dejected by it. Dean texted back quickly, and Castiel tried to keep the smirk off his face.

**[Received 10:11 PM]**

**Yeah?**

**[Delivered 10:13 PM]**

**Yes. Instead I am going to sext you and tease you until you’re about to burst. I’m going to make as many innuendoes as possible during this game with you knowing I’m really thinking of doing that to you. Then I’m going to take you into a private room and suck your cock like I’m mad at it. I’m going take out all my frustrations using only my tongue and mouth, maybe a little teeth. I’ll make you scream so hard you’ll be biting your knuckles until you bruise to keep the others from hearing.**

Castiel had never talked like that in his life, but he had been drinking, Dean was incredibly good looking, and fanfiction was nothing if not a good teacher on dirty, dirty things.

Dean’s eyes went wide once he read the text, and when he looked up at Castiel across the table in the kitchen where they all were gathered around, Castiel slowly bit his lip, letting some tongue show as it dragged his lip between his teeth, and as he slowly let his lip slip out, Castiel winked. Bless liquid courage.

After Dean got over his initial shock, he smirked and mouthed, _‘Bring it on.’_

With everyone there and most of them wanting to make a dramatic presentation of all the choices for the ‘judge’ of the game, Castiel had plenty of time to text Dean.

**[Delivered 10:17 PM]**

**I can’t wait to taste you, Dean. To lick you until I get to lick pre-cum off your leaking, twitchy cock. To suck you down, suck you hard, sucking all that flavor down my throat. To roll your balls across my tongue, making you moan and grab my hair, messing it up more than you already have. I can’t wait to drive you crazy until you can’t control your hips, and you grip my hair, holding me still as you deep-throat me and fuck my mouth.**

Dean looked across the table at him when his phone lit up in his lap. Castiel just licked his lips, knowing his eyes were hooded and refusing to hide them. Their friends were busy laughing at the game anyway.

“Jesus fuck,” Dean said out loud, causing Crowley and Garth on either side of him to look over. Dean hurriedly put away his phone and just shrugged and shook his head at their questioning stares.

Over the next hour and a half, Castiel played every dirty and sexy card he could, even if it didn’t quite fit the round, just to see Dean take notice and watch him eventually squirm in his seat. He kept sending Dean texts, describing in great detail all the things he would love to do to Dean if given the chance, and all the things he would love Dean to do to him.

The most fun part for Castiel was sexually teasing him right there, in front of everyone. Looks. Winks. Playing with his mouth. Letting himself moan into bites of food, or slowly use one finger to wipe his chin from droplets of whatever he was drinking and sucking it off his finger.

By time they were finished with their games and started packing up to get ready for the New Year, Castiel conveniently started helping Dean make drinks and straighten up the kitchen, touching him, leaning close to him, ghosting his touch and breath on the back of Dean’s neck as he leaned over Dean to put something in the sink.

Needless to say, Castiel wasn’t surprised on bit when, once that was done, Dean dragged Castiel into the downstairs half-bath and locked the doors.

“Down on your knees,” Dean demanded. “Put your mouth where your words were.”

“With pleasure,” Castiel breathed, pleased that he sounded more sultry than his normal broken voice in these kinds of situations.

Kneeling in front of him, Castiel mouthed Dean above his jeans, hands rubbing his thighs. He used his teeth to open the button and zipper but had to use his hands to pull them down. Castiel couldn’t stop the moan from escaping him once he saw Dean was hard and leaking. Castiel did that. With flirting, dirty texts, teasing. This idea was so much better than his first.

Castiel could only tease him for so long with licks and kisses before Dean was gripping his hair tight, moaning and gesturing for Castiel to get on with it. So, he did. He only bobbed down a few times before Dean’s whole cock was wet and saliva was dripping a little from the corner of his mouth. He wasn’t slow or gentle with Dean, but he was careful to relax and open his throat to eventually take Dean down completely. It would seem Castiel was true to his words, and Dean kept twitching his hips, bucking up every now and then.

Once Castiel had him all the down again, he froze, looking up at Dean and taking his hands off him, holding them up in surrender. When Dean looked back at him confused, Castiel only winked.

A moment later, Dean understood, and he grabbed Castiel’s head and started fucking in Castiel’s mouth. It wasn’t as hard and fast as Castiel would have assumed Dean would do, and he was impressed with Dean’s willpower and control. He moaned and groaned around Dean’s cock, and it took several thrusts before Castiel realized…

He was bucking his hips too. He was hard too. He was leaking too.

Oh, god, yes.

Castiel wasted no time pulling himself out of his restricting jeans and jack himself off almost brutally. He was cumming very quickly, crying out as much as he could. It didn’t take long for Dean to follow, and as soon as Castiel swallowed everything down, he fell backwards onto the floor, breathing heavily.

Fuck _yes._

After a few moments, a breathless Dean snorted. “Did you cum on my pants?”

Castiel smiled, feeling more relaxed than he had all break. “I really don’t give a fuck where I cum, as long as I do.”

“Fair point,” Dean laughed. Eventually, Castiel got his wits about him to tuck himself back inside his jeans and stood up. Dean was already put back together, smirking at Castiel.

“You got off with me fucking your mouth.”

Castiel smirked back. “And I will never apologize for it.”

Dean brought him in for a sweet, soft kiss, and then suddenly Castiel remembered.

“Fuck!” He pulled out his phone and noted the time being seven minutes before midnight.

“What?” Dean asked, brows pulling together.

Castiel brought his hand to his mouth. “I was supposed to be Charlie’s New Year’s kiss.”

Dean was expressionless for a moment, then busted out laughing. He laughed so hard, he was holding onto Castiel’s shoulder to keep himself up.

“This isn’t funny, Dean!”

“It’s-… It’s… Whoooo, it’s _hilarious_.”

“No, it isn’t,” Castiel challenged, feeling his face heat up but still smiling regardless. He pushed Dean out of the way as he said, “I’m using your toothbrush.”

He quickly made his way to the upstairs bathroom. There were three toothbrushes in a cup on the sink, but considering only one was a Batman one, it wasn’t hard to know which was Dean’s. He set to work, scrubbing everywhere in his mouth and lips he could. He was disappointed to brush away Dean’s flavor, but he felt horribly guilty for even thinking about doing that when he promised to kiss Charlie. Sure, it was just going to be a peck, but still.

Once he was downstairs in the living room with rest of them, he saw Dean in the corner, drink in hand and grinning like a kid in a toy store.

“Finally!” Charlie cried, pulling Castiel to the center of the living room. “We only have three minutes! Here,” she said, jogging off toward the kitchen, “I’ll get your drink!”

Dean was snickering in the corner, getting Crowley’s attention. Castiel sent him a warning glare, but still felt a little pink in his cheeks. Charlie came back quickly with a refill of Castiel’s rum and coke.

“Ah!” she squealed. “Two minutes!” She turned back to give Castiel a stern look. “And no funny business, sir.”

Dean snorted loudly, trying to cover it up with a cough, but with his barely contained smile, Castiel could tell no one in the room bought it.

“What’s so funny?” Sam asked from the couch.

Dean cleared his throat and somewhat schooled his features. “Nothing.”

Sam, Garth, and Kevin took up the whole couch, and Benny claimed the armchair. The rest of them were left standing, and Charlie in her excitement kept herself and Castiel in the middle of the room in front of the TV. Once the countdown got to a minute, Dean was bouncing on the balls of his feet, snickering seemingly uncontrollably. Castiel did his best just to sip his drink and try to keep his blush down.

At 48 seconds left, Crowley exclaimed, “Oh my god!”, eyes going wide as they flickered between Dean and Castiel. “For fuck’s sake,” Crowley mumbled, making Dean all out laugh. Crowley wandered over to the living room’s entrance, his drink in front of his lips to block the smirk.

“What? What’s so funny?” Kevin asked.

Dean just kept chuckling, quieting down enough for it to be soft. Castiel stubbornly didn’t look his way, and Charlie was too focused on the countdown to pay much attention. Everyone else did, though, and at 19 seconds, Gadreel said, “You’ve got to be kidding me,” looking incredulously between the two. Dean’s and Crowley’s increase in laughter only confirmed it, and Gadreel himself blushed a little.

“ _What?”_ Kevin and Sam asked at the same time Garth said, “I don’t get it.”

“TEN!” Charlie counted, jumping a little on her feet.

She ended up be the only one to count except for a quiet and confused Garth who was too business studying the room and what could possibly be going on. The others were trying to figure out what was so funny too, not bothering counting down. Now that the countdown started, Dean’s laughter couldn’t be contained, Crowley was starting to lose it, and even Gadreel was laughing.

“NINE!”

“Fuck, you didn’t?!” came Benny next, face breaking out into a huge grin.

“EIGHT!”

“Dean, _what?_ ” Sam asked.

“SEVEN!”

Dean, Crowley, Benny, and Gadreel had now all lost it, and Castiel, though he knew his face was as red as ever, still couldn’t stop the stupid grin on his face. His cheeks were hurting.

“SIX!”

“Wait…” whispered Kevin.

“FIVE!”

“YOU DIDN’T REALLY?” Kevin exclaimed, face showing the exact, and correct, conclusion he just came to.

“FOUR!”

Kevin threw his head back laughing. Dean was holding onto a window sill, arm around his stomach, laughing so hard Castiel could see a tear streak down his face.

“THREE!”

“DON’T DO IT!” called the joyful laughter from both Benny and Kevin, smiling ear from ear.

Castiel had never felt this hot under the collar.

“TWO!”

“DON’T DO IT!” came again, this time from Benny, Kevin, Crowley, and Gadreel.

“JESUS FUCK DEAN!” Sam yelled, snapping his head around to give Dean what Dean called “the ultimate bitchface.”

“ONE!”

Everyone except Garth laughed even louder as Charlie threw her arms around Castiel’s neck, yelled, “HAPPY NEW YEAR!” and gave him a solid and good closed mouth kiss.

When she pulled away, Castiel fell on his knees, laughing as hard and loudly with the rest of them. Sam was grinning, though still looked scandalized, and was whispering in Garth’s ear. Garth’s eyes went huge, then he was laughing too.

“What?” Charlie asked. “What did we miss?”

“Oh, darling,” Crowley cooed, draining his drink with his grin worthy of a king of hell. “ _Castiel_ didn’t miss anything.”

“Not one drop,” Dean snickered, causing equal parts groans from the room as shouts of laughter.

By time Castiel had made it back up on his feet, Charlie was clearly putting two and two together. She gasped and looked at Castiel in shock. “You didn’t.”

Still beat red, Castiel smirked and said, “As you say, gotta get while the getting’s good.”

“OH MY GOD!” Charlie shouted. She started smacking his arms hard, stinging him with the blows. She stopped abruptly, but before Castiel could lower his guard to see if he was home free, Charlie started hitting him with what felt like a book. “I! TRUSTED! YOU! NOVAK! HOW! DARE! YOU!”

The reaction left no one except Charlie unable to laugh. Not just laugh – _painfully_ laugh. Even Castiel under the blows.

“Oooh!” Charlie hissed as she threw down the book. “I need to go scrub my mouth out now!”

As she jogged out the room and towards the stairs, Dean called, “Don’t worry, Charlie. Just use my toothbrush!”

“ _DEAN!”_ Castiel cried, feeling his eyes go almost dry with how wide they were, his face getting impossibly hotter.

That just drew out renew shouts of laughter, Charlie’s, “YOU’LL PAY FOR THIS, NOVAK,” barely heard. Crowley, Dean, and Castiel all ended up on the floor, clutching their sides.

As embarrassed as he was, Castiel couldn’t help but be incredibly happy. If he ever laughed that hard before, he couldn’t remember it. When Charlie returned, daring Dean to ever use his toothbrush again, things finally calmed down. Dean, crossed the room and gave Castiel a short kiss.

“Happy New Years, Cas,” he mumbled against his lips.

“Fuck you, Dean,” Castiel replied, though they both smiled at each other as they pulled away.

The group of friends spent the rest of the night going over their most embarrassing sexual experiences as up to yet, and when it was Castiel’s turn, which only served to make Castiel go beat red again, the laughter picked up, and even Charlie had to clutch her sides.

Yes. Castiel was getting better.

…

The next morning, they all hung around in the living room. Dean made everyone a big hangover-helper breakfast, and they stayed on their air mattresses and couches and armchairs, talking about nothing important, mainly fiddling with their phones. Somehow the nothingness led to Gadreel opening a group text thread with all of them, sending meme after meme. Which was met with Sam and Dean and Charlie joining in the meme thread. Eventually, everyone was participating, and they all agreed to keep the thread open for random meme fun whenever they wanted.

Castiel arrived home to find Gabriel not there, which was a relief. He took his morning medicine, super late of course, and added his clothes to the pile on the floor. He put on his last pair of clean boxers – with no pair of clean pajama pants or sweats left – and a white tee. He should probably brush his teeth or something, but he’s hungover and tired.

Instead, he flopped down in bed and replayed his night with Dean over and over in his head.

He supposed he and Dean should probably eventual define their relationship. Honestly, after all these months, Castiel was pretty sure they just naturally evolved into friends with benefits. Dean didn’t push or ask for anything more. He said nothing had to change between them, after all.

Which was exactly what Castiel wanted. Anything more meant having to answer questions he didn’t want to answer. It meant Dean would eventually see his stomach. It meant having to let him in, bit by bit. It meant obligatory dates and dinners. Meeting the family under a new title. Their friends always pairing them. Him be expecting to go out with Dean when Dean was invited out by the others, or else he’d look like a bad boyfriend. It meant having Dean over and Gabriel tease them. Hell, it could even mean prom.  Just the idea of it was exhausting.

Yet, even though this was exactly what he wanted, somewhere in the back of his mind was a mantra of:

_You’re not anything more because he’s the one who doesn’t want you._

_You’re a good lay, nothing more._

_He cares about you to the extent of fucking you and you helping him pass his classes._

_If you ever tried to take the plunge or ask for more, he’d be absolutely disgusted._

_He doesn’t complain about you wearing your shirt while he fucks you because he doesn’t actually want to see you’re disgusting body._

_You’re a disgusting piece of shit, no one could want you. Balthazar already proved that._

He heard it faintly, and somewhere deep down, he knew it was the truth.


	11. Sometimes I’m just a piece of shit – I can’t explain it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He went back to picking the paper of one of his empty water bottles, and when he noticed no one had said anything, he screamed in his head to get his fucking shit together and fucking snap out of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm getting paranoid guys. I know this isn't a light hearted story, but you're still liking it, yeah?
> 
> Please be aware of the trigger warnings before going forward. This chapter marks the beginning of shit hitting the fan.
> 
> TW:  
> self harm  
> depression symptoms  
> depressive thoughts  
> self-depreciating thoughts

By time hunger drove him out of his room, Gabriel was on the couch, looking horrible, with an ice pack to his head. The sun had already gone down, and Gabriel hadn’t even changed his clothes. He must have had a damn good time.

“Did you take anything?” Castiel asked, trying to keep his voice soft and low.

“Mhm,” whined Gabriel.

“Do you want any food?”

“Mhm,” he whined again.

Castiel went into the kitchen and examined the contents on the refrigerator. He was going to come in here and find something to eat that didn’t require any cooking and very minimum amount of work. The only thing like that they had was cereal, and Gabriel needed grease food.

They both did.

Castiel plopped down at the counter and pulled the Domino’s app up on his phone, glad he carried it in here with him so he didn’t have to go all the way back in his room to get it. He ordered two large thin crust pizzas with pepperoni, green peppers, onions, and bacon; and, having noted the lack of soda, a two liter.

Somewhere in Castiel’s mind, he realized he hadn’t drunk any water all week. Dean didn’t text him at night anymore – _See, he doesn’t care. He’s been trying to shake you for weeks now_ – and without seeing the Winchesters at school, he hadn’t remembered.

He pushed that thought away and hovered over the “place order” button. He had selected pay with cash, but did he have enough cash? If not, he could easily pay with card, but both the cash and card were in his wallet… in his room….

He sighed and closed his eyes. He knew exactly where it was – the back pocket of the jeans he wore last night.

Castiel knew Gabriel well enough to know he would have spent all his cash last night. And not knowing anything about Gabriel’s current banking, he didn’t want to have him pay. Gabriel didn’t look like any state to really be consenting anyway.

It was just a few feet, right? It would take no time.

_Just go and get it, you worthless lazy fuck. You might be okay without eating, but this is for Gabriel. Are you so fucking selfish that you won’t even get up and go get your fucking wallet? After everything he’s done for you. God, why are you still alive?_

Castiel shook those thoughts away, took a couple of moments to work up the energy, and then got up and made his way to his room. On the way back, he paused by the couch to softly tell Gabriel he was ordering pizza.

He did have enough cash, so he placed his order with a note to please call his cell instead of knocking or ringing the doorbell – they had two hungover people here, after all. Though Castiel felt a lot better than he did that morning.

He sat at the counter, scrolling through Tumblr and sending the group some memes and gifs he thought were funny, and after half an hour, his phone vibrated in his hand with a call.

Instead of answering, and with the promise of food motivating him, he made his way down the stairs. He paid the guy, grateful he didn’t seem to want to make small talk, and gently got Gabriel’s attention when he was back upstairs.

It seemed to have taken all he had in him, but Gabriel got up and made his way over the counter, plopping down across from Castiel. Castiel brought out two glasses – the two liter already cold from being chilled by Domino’s – and they ate the first pizza in silence, not bothering with plates.

When they dug into the second one, Gabriel asked, “Did’ya have fun last night?”

Castiel nodded and gave him a small smile. “Charlie found out I gave Dean a blowjob before midnight after I was her New Year’s kiss. I think she bruised my arm.”

Gabriel snorted, almost choking on his slice. “That’s cold, bro. Talk about hitting below the belt.”

“That’s precisely what I did,” Castiel said, throwing Gabriel a wink.

“Oh, good lord, I fear I’ve been a horrible influence on you,” Gabriel said, smiling right back at Castiel. Castiel shrugged, turning back to his pizza. After a few moments of comfortable silence, Gabriel asked, “So are you and Dean like a thing-thing, or just a thing?”

Amazingly, Castiel understood what he meant. “Just a thing. I doubt he would ever want more from me.”

“What’d you mean?” Gabriel asked, frowning.

“I, uh, don’t think he’s all that interested, you know?”

Gabriel shook his head. “Is he breaking your heart? ‘Cause you could just let me at him - “

“He’s not breaking my heart,” Castiel said firmly, holding up a hand. “Besides, if he were to pursue me, I would reject him anyway.”

“What? Why?”

Castiel took a moment to answer, picking at his food. “I’m just not ready for something like that.”

He saw Gabriel nod in his peripheral, and thankfully, the subject was dropped.

With the odd changes to Castiel’s appetite and Gabriel having not eaten anything, they ate the entirety of both pizzas and drank almost the whole two liter of soda.

That night Castiel just cut once, but made sure it was deep.

…

The last day of break, Castiel felt something inside him break.

First, he did absolutely _nothing_ he had said he was going to do over break. He hadn’t drawn on his new notebooks, hadn’t worked on any of his pieces, hadn’t started any new ones, hadn’t fucking _finished_ the one he promised himself he was going to finish.

_That’s because you’re a disgusting, lazy, selfish piece of shit._

On top of that, he desperately needed to do laundry and clean his room.

But as he laid there in bed, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Any of it.

He had had a _break_. A glorious, do-nothing, relaxing _break_. The idea of going back to life: to school, to friends, to art, to classes, to grocery shopping and doing laundry and doing the dishes; to car maintenance, healthy maintenance, hygiene maintenance; to talking to people and dealing with people and facing people and going places and doing things. It was all so overwhelmingly daunting, and Castiel felt like he couldn’t move.

So, he turned over in bed and decided it could wait. It could all wait for one more day.

…

When Castiel’s alarm went off the next morning, he thoroughly hated himself.

It was 7 am. School started at 8 am. It was about a fifteen-minute drive, give or take, thanks to all the school traffic. It would be quicker to walk, but… that would involve walking.

He would have to leave by 7:40.

So, checklist. What did he need and what did he have? Purposely ignoring the eerie familiarity of this, he stared at his clock hovering above him in one of the headboard’s shelves and thought.

Well, he needed clothes, first.

He had only one pair of jeans clean. Did he? Two laid on his floor, and two were in his hamper. So yeah, he had one pair clean. Ugh, but he hated that pair. They were old, weren’t really fitting with how much muscle he was gaining in his legs and thighs, and worn. Like, thin fabric worn. He was likely to have a hole in either the inside of his thighs or knees by the end of the day. Or both. Knee wouldn’t be too bad, and boxers would cover-

Boxers. Boxer briefs. Briefs. Whatever the fuck they’re called, he was out of underwear. He might could borrow one of Gabriel’s but one, they weren’t really the same size and that would be uncomfortable; two, they would be Gabriel’s and _that_ would be uncomfortable; and three, that would mean he would have to tell Gabriel that he hadn’t done any laundry over break. Or the entire week before break because he’d had enough clothes to last then. Gabriel had dutifully done his laundry when he moved in, and Gabriel seemed proud of Castiel when he was finally doing his on his own.

_Oh god, you’re pathetic. Making big brother proud by successfully doing a chore that even an eight-year-old could do. A chore you used to do all the time when you were a kid because your father hated you and wouldn’t corrupt himself by touching your filthy clothes._

Castiel sighed, remembering Missouri’s advice: Focus on what was immediate and at hand.

So, he would Febreze wash a pair. Spray it down, throw it in the dryer with a dryer sheet for ten minutes. That would do.

Otherwise, he had some clean shirts, and he thought at least one more clean pair of socks.

He could do laundry tonight. No big deal.

Then there was showering. He felt himself sigh again under the weight of that chore. He would have to wait for the right temperature, wash his hair, condition his hair, wash his body, shave. Then there was drying off, cleaning out his ears, drying his hair so he can at least try to style it. Thank god he was not a girl and also under societal pressure to wear makeup.

He knew he could be super quick about it, but there was just so much to it, it felt like too much.

He hadn’t showered since Saturday, and since then he had sex, drank himself stupid drunk, had the drunk sweats, then the hangover sweats, then the ate-too-much pizza sweats, and then the I-barely-gotten-out-of-bed sweats.

He had seen girls at school spray their hair with their perfume after smoking a cigarette so they wouldn’t smell like smoke. Maybe he could do the same.

Then he could take a quick sponge bath, and use spray to cover whatever he missed. He used to do that all the time when he lived with Michael. Quick, easy, did the job. Mostly.

Plus, everything was already packed for school. A backpack with seven white notebooks in it.

By time he sorted it all out, it was 7:06. He needed to leave at 7:40. Minus the ten minutes for his boxers and the five minutes to bathe and get dressed, he needed to get out of bed at 7:25. That was almost twenty minutes of him avoiding reality.

At 7:09, he pushed snooze. Then at 7:19 he pushed snooze again. Then he watched as his clock ticked to 7:25.

Then 7:26.

Then 7:27.

Then 7:28.

All the while screaming inside his head to _GET THE FUCK UP. GET UP. GET OUT OF BED. GET UP._

_GET UP._

_GET UP._

Right as he hit snooze again, Gabriel was banging at his door.

“Rise and shine, Cassie! Break is over!”

And with that, a burning rage shot through him.

Yes, break was fucking over. He knew break was fucking over. Oh god, did he _know_ break was fucking over. He was well-fucking-aware break was fucking over.

At least that was enough to get him out of bed.

He snatched up the first pair of boxers on the floor he could reach, before pushing through his door and passing Gabriel, trying to get out with the smallest gap possible and slamming the door so Gabriel didn’t see his room.

Not that he was embarrassed or ashamed or anything. He’d clean it. He’d clean it tonight. Along with laundry. He would do it all tonight.

“I know, Gabriel,” he spat, pushing past him towards the kitchen where the laundry room was adjacent to the backdoor.

“Oh, to be young and hating the first day back at school.”

“Don’t you have work or something?”

“Yep,” came Gabriel’s cheery voice from the living room. “I’m off just now. See you tonight!”

Castiel didn’t say goodbye, just took a breath and enjoyed the sound of the door closing.

He grabbed the Febreze from under the skin and sprayed his boxers before throwing it and a dryer sheet in the dryer and turning it on.

He went back to his room, letting his night clothes fall in a crumble with the rest on the floor. He grabbed those fucking jeans, a dark blue long sleeved shirt, his apparently second-to-last pair of socks, shoes, and his backpack and rushed into the bathroom, dumping it all on the counter. He quickly grabbed two wash clothes, wrapping the bar of hand soap around one with wetting it, quickly washing himself. Then he grabbed the other to pat him down. He took his Axe and sprayed it around himself, then combed it through his hair with his fingers, before quickly brushing his teeth.

Bringing the bundle of shit for the day with him to the laundry room, he dressed, groaning at the still dampness of his boxers, and hit the door throwing his jacket on. He was half-way down the stairs before he remembered his medicine.

He sighed heavily, leaning against the wall. He needed to take it. If he wanted to stop having mornings like these, he needed to take it. He hadn’t missed once since he started. He didn’t know if Gabriel would know if he missed – he knew the reason his pill organizer (inside at black zipper bag with **DRUGS** printed across the front, thanks Gabriel) was in the kitchen on the microwave, all his pills bottles in the cabinet above with the spices and spare candy was originally for Gabriel to check and make sure he took it. He hadn’t done that in a while though.

Castiel didn’t know how long he stood there on the step, head against the wall, trying _so_ hard to get himself to go back up and just take the damn things.

But he felt like if he went back up, he wouldn’t come back down.

Telling himself that skipping once wasn’t going to be the end of the world, he continued down.

He got to school at 7:59.

And got to homeroom at 8:04.

“Cas! You made it,” Dean greeted him happily. Castiel nodded to their homeroom teacher, who gave him a pointed you’re-late look.

“Nice of you to join us,” Crowley said. “And I see you’ve kept the beard.”

Crap, his beard. He ran his hand threw it, thoroughly relieved no crumbs or anything fell out.

“Why were you late?” Dean asked as Castiel dropped himself at his desk, shoving his hands in his jacket’s pocket.

Castiel shrugged. “Guess I wasn’t ready for break to end.”

Dean and Crowley chuckled. “I agree. We start earlier, get fewer breaks, and end later. All the while, I feel as though I’m not getting any better of an education,” Crowley leered.

“I hear that,” Dean agreed.

Castiel let the conversation flow over him without joining much. He got through the start of the morning. Now, checklist, school.

He was taking nothing but electives this semester. Art, Painting, Woodshop, First Lunch, Art History, African American History, Political Science, and Weight Training.

Dean took Weight Training II with him. At the time, he thought he was doing it for Castiel. Now he wondered what the true reason was because after break, Castiel was pretty confident it had nothing to do with him.

Charlie was in his Art and Painting class.

Kevin in Art.

Sam in both History classes.

Garth in Woodshop.

And the entire group, including Garth this semester, was in Polisci.

He couldn’t remember who was in his lunch, but he would find out soon enough.

None of the classes were hard, and he had someone in each class.

Right? He did have them? They were his friends. Sure, Castiel didn’t reach out to them over break, but they didn’t really reach out to him either. Should they have? Castiel didn’t do anything to make them not want him around, right? Everyone seemed happy to see him at New Years. But what if that was just for show, to keep things from getting awkward?

“Hey,” Dean said, getting his attention by lightly swatting his shoulder. “You good?”

“What?”

“You okay?”

“Oh. Yeah, just trying to remember what classes I’m taking this semester.”

Dean snorted. “Can you believe most of the Blues are graduating. We’re leaving poor Garth and Sam all by themselves.”

“Sam can hold his own,” Crowley mused. “Garth… well, Garth has Sam, doesn’t he?”

Castiel zoned out again, listening to Dean ponder over what colleges Sam would apply for next year.

All electives. He took both History classes in his other school that somehow didn’t transfer, so he was good there. He knew he would pass Weight Training with not doing anything. Polisci was going to be interesting, he had no idea what Woodshop would be like, and Art and Painting… Here’s hoping he would keep up the talent. Or sear luck.

“Dude,” Dean got his attention again. “You worried about a class or something?”

“Uh… Polisci will be interesting. I’m kind of hoping not many Reds will take it this semester.”

“If you’re worried about that, darling,” Crowley cooed, “then need I remind you of your victorious speech during finals?”

Castiel shrugged. “Hopefully there won’t be much debating.”

“Knowing Chuck, hell yeah there will be,” Dean winked.

It wasn’t long before the bell rang. Castiel was ready to kiss whatever god’s ass he’d have to if the rest of the day could just go smoothly.

Kevin dominated the conversation in Art by already freaking out about colleges. Castiel texted Ms. Tran suggesting a not-so-lecture lecture to get him to calm down. Charlie was so focused on ideas in Painting that she didn’t talk much. In Woodshop, Garth, as always, filled in any silence by himself, either unaware or not caring that Castiel wasn’t responding or listening. Apparently, Woodshop was the same as his Art classes. Once a month, make something. Meanwhile, learn technics.

It was lunch that things went downhill, and that was because the only two people he had it with were the two who knew there could be something kind of major, technically medical wrong with him.

They sat at a table in a back, as far away from the crowd as possible since Castiel ended up being the one to pick the table. The brothers both brought their lunches, but Castiel, naturally, didn’t have his shit together enough to do so. He was stuck with a gross chicken sandwich from the cafeteria and a soda. He took one bite of the sandwich before he quit. There was no way he could stomach that. And he was _starving_.

“You not hungry?” Dean asked when Castiel wadded up his sandwich in the plastic wrap it came in.

“Very hungry. But apparently not hungry enough to stomach this shit.”

He knew he sounded unusually bitter, especially since he barely ever cursed out loud, so he wasn’t surprised when both the Winchesters stiffened.

“Uh…” started Sam, “I think Dean and I would be okay with sharing ours.”

Castiel was shaking his head before he could finish. “No, that would be unfair. Both of you deserve nourish-“

He was cut off by Dean literally shoving his sandwich in Castiel’s open mouth.

They all laughed, and Castiel agreed to eating Dean’s ham and Swiss on rye sandwich with the brothers splitting Sam’s sandwich, but only if they kept their chips. Once they agreed, they fell silent as they began to eat, Castiel greedily eating the sandwich and drinking his can of pure syrup and sugary bliss. Unfortunately, smacking his lips to the soda brought the brother’s attention to it.

“Oh hey, where’s your water bottle?” Dean asked.

“Um…” Castiel pushed out around the food in his mouth, chewed for a moment, swallowed, then said, “I forgot it. I was kind of in a rush this morning.”

“That’s right, you were late, weren’t you?” asked Sam.

“You know?”

“Dean told me,” he answered simply.

Why would Dean tell him? Oh yeah… they’re his “support group”. Bang up job so far, Castiel thought bitterly.

“Yes. I was.”

There was silent for a moment before Sam asked, “How much water have you had today?”

_They don’t care._

_They wanted to help because they could see what a sorry sack of shit you were, and they politely fazed their way out of helping. They haven’t brought you water since Dean bought that giant, heavy thing. They expect_ you _to take care of you. They don’t want to take care of you._

_You should be able to take care of yourself. You’re pathetic. Going, what, a week and half without a sip of water. God, you’re hopeless…_

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of scraping metal on titled floor as Dean got up and walked off.

_He knows. He’s done. He’s sick of your shit._

“He’s going to go get you some,” Sam said.

“What?”

“Water,” Sam smiled.

Sure enough, Dean came back with two water bottles, taking the soda away from him. Castiel was so embarrassed about getting lost bashing himself that he didn’t answer or lie or anything, making it way too obvious he didn’t have much of any water today. Or maybe even none of at all. He so didn’t want them to know that.

And if that wasn’t the worst of it…

They all finished eating with ten minutes left – well, Castiel finished almost immediately, but it took the time of the other two eating while chatting to finish the water bottles. Then it took all of two minutes without the distraction of food for the brothers noticed Castiel wasn’t joining in the merry chat.

“Cas?” Dean asked. “You sure you good?”

“Yes, Dean. Just first day back.” He sighed, feeling all the energy he forced himself to build up since leaving the apartment fading from him all at once. He closed his eyes and swallowed. “I just wasn’t ready for it.”

He went back to picking the paper of one of his empty water bottles, and when he noticed no one had said anything, he _screamed_ in his head to get his fucking shit together and fucking snap out of it.

But no matter how much he could scream to himself, he knew he never listened.

So fucking done with the screaming, Castiel abruptly got up and left, leaving all his trash behind.

He arrived to his Art History class before anyone, not even the teacher was there, and he was already situated all the way in the back corner closest to the window, his head buried in the arms crossed on the desk, before the bell sounded for the end of lunch.

He stayed that way despite the bell, the noise in the hall, the noise in the classroom, the noise of Sam’s voice and his hand on his shoulder.

God, he could fall asleep like this, ignoring the whole world.

Fuck everything else. He just needed a minute.

…

Dean knew the moment he got a good look at Cas on New Years that something was off, but despite how Cas looked, he acted normal. A lot hornier, but he seemed like Cas. He thought that maybe his appearance had to do with his disorder, of which Sam and he – with a lot of research and watching Cas – had narrowed down to a mental disorder, a blood disorder, or brain disorder. Which resulted in Sam taking almost an hour convincing Dean brain disorders and mental disorder were two different things.

He didn’t think too much about how Cas was absent during break. Everyone was, dealing with families and such. He looked perfect, both during the booty call and Christmas. Hell, he looked more than perfect on Christmas. Just watching his brothers talk, debate, play-fight, and laugh together was enough to light up Cas’ face brighter than any Christmas tree out there.

Which was probably why Dean’s gut clenched when he saw the drastic different between that and New Years.

But Cas moved here for a reason, right? Michael, as much as they loved each other, for some reason – Dean was guessing money – couldn’t take care of Cas anymore, not with whatever disorder he had. Sure, it seemed like continued good times when he got that text from Gabe where Michael and Cas were buying Cas a car, but who knew when Michael left. Some of that drama could have come up again.

Which, Dean thought, was probably exactly it if Michael couldn’t afford Cas’ medical whatever’s and there they were with a car-buying situation, whether it was Gabe buying it, or Michael, or all three of them, or some combination.

Especially after Michael buying _all_ those presents. Surely, it was family drama that was wearing Cas down.

Even seeing the familiar pale skin and circles under his eyes, hearing the familiar sighs, Dean wasn’t convinced it could be more than that.

That was, until Cas came in on their first day back.

He tried so hard not to think anything of it.

But after Cas stormed out of the lunch room, and Sam reported that Cas didn’t even try to do anything else but stare off in their classes and completely ignored the water bottles Sam brought him, by time he got to Weight Training, he was worried.

Dean was waiting for him outside of the locker room. When Castiel got there, he walked past Dean without so much of a glance. He was walking into and closing a changing stall before Dean could catch up, so Dean chose the locker by Cas’ backpack where he threw it, and changed too.

When Cas came out, he threw his backpack and gym bag undoubtedly filled with his day clothes in his locker, before shutting it gently and turning to Dean.

“Dean,” he started, “I’m sorry about lunch.” He looked at him with pleading, tired eyes. “And I’ll apologize to Sam. There was a reason why I was more than okay with promising Benny he could call me out on things-“

Dean tried to interrupt him, but Cas held up his hand.

“I mean it, Dean. Sometimes I’m just a piece of shit – I can’t explain it. I’m sorry. I’ll get better, I promise. I’ll…” he swallowed. “I’ll get better.”

Dean put both hands on each of Cas’ shoulders, despite knowing the glances they were getting from other dudes in the locker room. “Yeah, Cas, you _will_ get better. But you can’t if you worry about other people. Focus on you, only you. Don’t worry about us. We’ve been slacking off helping you, but we’ll get better, too, okay?”

Cas shook his head. “No, Dean, I don’t want you both trying to take care of me. You both need to focu-“

“Stop,” Dean said firmly, strengthening his grip on Cas’ shoulders. “Don’t worry about us, Cas. Focus on you. We knew what we were getting into when we when offered to help.”

Cas huffed the most bitter laugh Dean had ever heard and knocked his hands away, backing up. “You didn’t, Dean. So just stop. You and Sam both. Just stop.”

He turned away and left.

Dean was stunned for a few moments before he realized, no, Sam and he didn’t really _know_ what they signed up for. They didn’t know what was wrong. But he didn’t doubt for a second that no matter what it was, they were in it. Especially now, after all these months.

He marched into the weight room ready to say just that, but upon entering, he stopped dead in his tracks. It was the first day back; therefore, Coach Pitts was going to spend the first ten minutes going over the syllabus that he won’t ever follow. He had already started, and of course, Pitts wouldn’t know nor care Dean ended up being late, but it still stopped Dean from being able to talk to Cas.

Cas had positioned himself in the back away from the crowd. Still determined to have his say once Pitts was done, Dean came right up next to Cas, letting their shoulders and arms touch. Cas jumped at the first contact, but didn’t back away.

As soon as Pitts was finished – he didn’t even bother passing out copies of the syllabus – Dean grabbed Cas’ arm and pulled him into a private corner.

Once they were aloneish and he had Cas’ full attention, he said, “Okay, yeah, we don’t know what’s wrong. But we do know something is. And we know you were doing so good, and we know you were doing better while we were helping, as much as you let us anyway. And Cas…” He finally let go of him to run his hand through his hair. “Cas, please. We don’t know what it is, but we know you were doing so good.”

Cas swallowed and shifted on his feet.

“Cas, talk to me. I don’t care what it is, man, spit it out.”

Cas looked unwavering at his shoes. “I know I was doing well, Dean. But…” there was an impregnated pause with Dean waiting patiently for him to finish his thought. “The operative word is ‘was’. I’m trying, Dean. I’m trying so-“ he cut himself off and cleared his throat. “Today hasn’t been the best. Maybe it was because I didn’t take my medicine, I don’t know, but-“

“You didn’t take your medicine?”

Cas flinched, but squared his shoulders and looked at Dean with resolve. “I’ve said it several times, Dean. I wasn’t ready for today. I didn’t take my medicine, and I don’t have my bowling pin-“ (what Cas called the water bottle he gave Cas) “- and I barely remembered my classes, and I… wasn’t prepared. It also made me difficult, again. I’m… Dean, I’m so sorry. And I’m sorry that… Dean, I just don’t have the energy to work out today.”

Dean let out a breath and smiled. “I don’t either, Cas. Let’s just sit and recover from the first day back. Relax, I get it.”

Cas nodded and immediately went to the closest wall, sliding to the floor, which took Dean off guard but he followed suit anyway. They sat side by side, shoulder on shoulder, thigh on thigh, the rest of the class. Dean didn’t question, move away, or say anything. They sat there the whole time, pressed against each other, watching the rest of the class not doing anything either with Pitts nowhere to be found.

When the bell rang, Dean walked Cas to the locker room and waited for him to come back from the changing stalls. They left together, but separated to their cars once outside in the parking lot.

Sam was already waiting by the Impala, wanting a full report of Cas in Weight Training. He didn’t know what made him do it, but Dean tried to push down his concern and defended him.

He told Sam the truth of the apology Cas wanted him to relay, told him that because of his disorder, maybe, he simply wasn’t prepared for the first day back. Said that he was a little – a lot, but he didn’t’ say it – off because of it, but they worked out as always and seemed perfectly normal.

But he did say: “We need to stop slacking off, Sammy.”

Sam agreed.


	12. I did something stupid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Excuse me,” Sam called, voice unnecessarily loud. “He needs help. Please.”
> 
> “Okay, dear, calm down,” the nurse said, coming around the counter to reach them. “Let me take a look.”
> 
> Holding his shirt up with one hand, Castiel let the other hand slowly drop away, gripping the towel. 
> 
> There it was: his dirty little secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided two things today. 
> 
> One, I'm proud of this fic. I'm so thankful I was able to sort of my own PDD relapse through writing this, and that by doing so, it pushed me to finally get real help. 
> 
> Two, I decided MWF updates when it's already complete and not so fun and sexy but heavy, is not something I would want. So, screw MWF. I'm posting. As fast as I can with the rest. Castiel is slipping. Best not to drag it out.
> 
> I'll tell my beta when she wakes up.
> 
> TW:  
> self harm  
> ER trip because of self harm  
> depression symptoms  
> depressive thoughts  
> depression justification, which are also depressive thoughts in this case

By the end of the first week back at school, Castiel was absolutely positive about a few things.

One, his laundry situation wasn’t as dire as his head made it out to seem. Sure, some, or even most, people washed a bunch of clothes at once, fold them, hang them up. He just wasn’t one of those people, he decided. He actually found his system easier. At night, he would pick out some clothes for the next day, throw them in the wash, throw them in the dryer, and in the morning collect them from the laundry room. So what if that basically made him wear the same two pair of jeans over and over and the same four shirts? So what if it basically meant he was wearing the same pair of socks and underwear every day? They were clean, weren’t they?

Two, he decided people made a big deal out of showers. Not everyone showered every day, and he was simply one of them. He’d take a shower when his hair got oily, and in the meantime take a sponge bath when he needed it. Which wasn’t that often when he stopped with all the exercising.

Which was number three. Because what’s the point of exercising anyway? He did it for months, and yet he still ended up falling back into no-energy situations he was in beforehand. He told Sam it was just too cold to run, and as much as Dean pushed him in Weight Training, he barely did anything. _No one_ in that class did anything anyway. Not even Dean. Who was he to be pushing Castiel?

Four, if Gabriel didn’t trust him enough to take his medicine, then why should Castiel trust him enough to take it when Gabriel was the one who pushed all it on him anyway. Besides, he told himself, he barely got out of bed in time to get ready, let alone have to pause and take pill after pill. He still took his afternoon pill because he didn’t want to completely ruin his recovery, and Gabriel always made sure he took his nighttime meds. But his morning ones weren’t so important. They were just vitamins and bupropion. He was already taking two other antidepressants, and the bupropion’s extra bonus was to give him energy and look how well that had been working. So, fuck it.

Five, he was an idiot thinking he could pursue an art career. He might be kind of okay in Art, but he made too many mistakes to be a professional. Wasting his and everyone’s time with it was just selfish.

The thing he was the surest of was that Sam, Dean, and Gabriel needed to back the fuck off, and Missouri could go fuck herself.

He didn’t talk at all during his session on Tuesday because he didn’t want to disappoint her, tell her that he, in one week, apparently undid months of hard work.

But by Thursday’s session, he decided it wasn’t any of her damn business.

He never _asked_ for therapy. He didn’t ask for Gabriel to drag him all the way out here, shove pills down his throat and push him into therapy. Dooming him to a life-long disorder. So, fuck fuck Missouri.

The fight they got into was not pretty, particularly since Missouri not getting angry back just fueled his rage more.

Dean texted him every morning reminding him to take his pills, and every morning he didn’t reply, and every morning Dean didn’t follow-up. Just like he never followed up when he used to text him about water at night – just assuming Castiel was going to do what he was told like a good little sheep.

He made sure to bring his (usually empty) water bottle to every class to pretend to have water, and every class, Castiel didn’t drink it. He wasn’t thirsty, anyway. Sam and Dean kept trying to talk to him, encourage him to work out, or to come out and hang with them, or join in conversations. He didn’t have the energy to fight with them, but he was stubborn enough not to do what they asked. Just tried to navigate their friendship without obeying.

Eventually he stopped trying. He didn’t bother reading some texts, and he stopped sitting with them at lunch. In fact, he stopped going to lunch at all, choosing instead to hide out in the art room.

They must had said something to Gabriel, because suddenly Gabriel was doing the same fucking thing.

After that bad Thursday’s session with Missouri when they fought, he told Gabriel he didn’t want to go back. Gabriel just looked sympatric, but said he had to go. Asked him to try for a little longer. So, Gabriel was probably already expecting something anyway.

For revenge, Castiel stopped working at the joke shop. Opting instead just to hide out in his room, reading and cutting.

He only started taking his morning medicine again when Gabriel started literally thrusting them and a glass of water at him every morning.

All of this went on for most of January. His friends – minus the constantly nagging Winchesters – eventually just started to leave him alone.

Well, until Benny confronted him about the third week of January.

“Hey, brother,” Benny said as he strolled up to Castiel in the parking lot after school one day. “I was wondering if I could have a moment of your time to ask you if you remember our deal?”

“Deal?” Castiel asked, momentarily confused.

“Yeah, our deal. The one where I get to tell you when you’re being a dick and you stop being one.”

“Oh…” Castiel shuffled on his feet. “Right. So… I’m being a dick, then, huh?”

“Hate to break it to ya. Well, actually, I don’t, but not all chivalry is dead,” Benny grinned. Castiel chose not to point out the paradox of his statement.

“Right.” Castiel sighed. “Sorry, Benny. I’ll make sure to adjust my attitude with the others. Thank you for pointing it out.”

Benny cocked an eyebrow. “When you say others, you mean all the others, yeah? Sam and Dean included?”

Castiel frowned. “No. If they want me to stop being a dick to them, then they need to lay off and stop nagging me.”

With that, he turned on his heels and made his way to his car.

He did try harder with the others. He didn’t always reply to their text messages and sometimes would accept their invitations out, but he usually canceled last minute. He did talk to them in class. He was secretly relieved that he still enjoyed that. He fell into easy conversation, smiled easily, laughed easily. Talking with the others, the nagging voices in his head that he was relapsing would quiet down, and he felt perfectly fine. He still felt better.

Sam, Dean, Gabriel, and Missouri were making a big deal out of nothing. In the moments he was talking with his friends, he knew he was okay. He was just well.

He was just fine with the way things were.

…

He was shaking, desperately trying to get the bleeding to stop.

He knew he had been cutting deeper and deeper into that one cut, but he never thought he’d fuck up like this. He thought re-opening and deepening just one instead of adding more was practically a win. A sign he was still recovering and getting better.

It was way past 1am before he realized he was going to need stitches.

A lump formed in his throat. Damnit. Gabriel and Missouri were going to take this as proof that they were right, and Castiel needed to try harder.

_God, why I am still alive?_

_I’ve already tried so hard._

He knew they both were going to eventually find out, but he really… it was too much. He was seriously scared he really, really hurt himself this time, and he just couldn’t handle the look on Gabriel’s face when he found out. Not right then. He had done everything under the sun to stop Gabriel from physical checking his stomach himself after he first got here, but after this…

Castiel was shaking harder, pressing a towel to his stomach, checking it every so often, praying it to stop bleeding.

He hadn’t meant to cut that deep, or open it up that much. He was honestly just looking for a little relief so he could sleep. That was all.

He swallowed around the lump in his throat, curling up on his bed, pressing the towel closer to him. He couldn’t believe his life had come to this? What had happened? How had he let things get so out of control that he was now in an entirely new town, lying to people, popping pills, pushing people away, and cutting himself so deep.

He missed Dean. He wished Dean was with him right now, curled up behind him, arms holding him.

But Dean didn’t want that. Castiel was a good lay, nothing more, and the way Castiel had been acting, he surely wasn’t even his friend anymore. If Dean ever found out about his cutting, he was sure that would be the straw that broke the camel’s back. He would know then that Castiel was just too damaged and broken. If there was any hope that Dean would eventually want more from Castiel, that would ruin it. Dean would know what a burden he was, and he wouldn’t want to shoulder it.

_God, why am I still alive?_

He couldn’t even cut right. Couldn’t take his pills right. Couldn’t do his laundry right. Couldn’t shower right. Couldn’t eat right. He was surprised he could even fucking poop right, and even that wasn’t until recently. He couldn’t even maintain his _health_ right. He was a fuck up, a failure at life, a failure at living, and he here he was again, failing at even cutting himself. Failing at damaging himself.

That would all he’d ever be. A disgusting, lazy, selfish, failing pieces of shit. He deserved this.

By 2am, after bleeding through most of the towel, he knew he needed help. Bleeding like this was a horrible sign. He didn’t deserve help, but he needed it. If nothing else but to keep that look Michael gave him the day he moved out to stay away from Gabriel’s face.

Wanting to avoid Gabriel as long as he could, he called the first person he thought of. But Crowley wouldn’t answer his phone.

“Damnit, Crowley,” he choked, hanging up without leaving a voicemail.

He quickly called the second person he could think of.

“Cas?” Sam asked, voice sound rough with sleep.

“Sam.” He knew his voice was shaky, but he was beyond caring.

“Cas? You okay? What’s wrong?”

“I, uh… I did something stupid.”

“Cas? What did you do?” Sam sounded panicked, and much, much more awake. “Where are you?”

“Don’t tell Dean. Please. Just… can, uh, can you come get me?”

“Where are you, Cas?”

“Home.”

“Where’s Gabe?”

“Out,” he lied simply, knowing his shaky voice would cover any giveaway to it.

“Okay. Okay.” Cas heard rustling on the other line. “I’ll be right there, Cas.”

Castiel hung up, tenderly getting up and shoving his feet into a pair of sneakers without bothering with socks. Just add that to a list of reasons why he was disgusting.

Making sure not to leave any blood in his wake by pressing the towel almost painfully to his stomach, he quietly made his way out the door, taking forever to get down the stairs. By time he reached the door to the street, he could already hear the engine of the Impala and the squeak of its door. When he pushed himself out, Sam was standing there, eyes wide. He was wearing grey sweats, black t-shirt, and a jacket. His long hair was sticking up every which way, and Castiel was pretty sure it was more from stress than sleep.

“Oh my god, Cas,” he rushed forward, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “Is that blood?”

“Can you take me to the ER, please?” Castiel asked, surprised his voice was somewhat steady.

Sam quickly led him to the car, though Castiel couldn’t sit normally without pain and more blood being pushed out, and they reached the hospital in five minutes, flat. Sam asked a string of questions that Castiel didn’t answer the entire way. When he mentioned calling Gabriel, Castiel shot that down, actually begging Sam not to. Not to call Gabriel, Dean, Bobby, anyone.

Sam didn’t like it, but he agreed.

When they got to the reception desk, Castiel was scared again. They were going to take one look at his stomach and lock him up in psych. He just knew it.

“Excuse me,” Sam called, voice unnecessarily loud. “He needs help. Please.”

“Okay, dear, calm down,” the nurse said, coming around the counter to reach them. “Let me take a look.”

Holding his shirt up with one hand, he let the other hand slowly drop away, gripping the towel.

There it was: his dirty little secret.

Sam gasped and actually took a step back. That stung. He tried to look away from Sam, ignoring the lump in this throat that swelled with the apparent rejection.

“Oh, honey,” the nurse whispered, sounding sad. “Follow me, sweetie. We’ll get this stitched up.”

She led them through a set of doors into the big ER room full of beds. It was empty. He guessed he was the only emergency tonight.

Sam helped him on one of the beds while the nurse went to get a doctor.

“It’s okay, Cas. It’s going to be okay. They’re going to stitch you, and you’re going to be fine. You’re going to be okay.”

“Are you trying to convince me or yourself, Sam?” Castiel sighed. The upper half of the bed was elevated so Castiel could sit comfortably, reclining slightly and not pinching his cut. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, clutching the towel to his stomach like a life-line.

He was tired. He was so, so tired.

They were silent for a few moments before the nurse came back with some pain pills and a cup of water. Castiel took them without a fuss, and then the nurse assured them the doctor would be there soon before walking away with Castiel’s insurance information and ID.

“Cas, why didn’t you tell us?” Sam asked, sounding hurt. When Castiel didn’t answer, he asked, “How long has this been going on?” Still, Castiel didn’t answer. “Cas, you have to tell someone.”

“They know,” he said.

“Who knows?”

“Gabriel, Michael, and Missouri.”

“That’s good, I guess. Cas, we should call one of them.”

“No, Sam. I just… I can’t deal with them right now, Sam, please. I can’t. I can’t deal with this right now. I can’t do this.” He knew he sounded like a small child, but why couldn’t Sam understand? Why couldn’t Sam just let things go? Why couldn’t anyone just ignore everything?

Sam put a hand on his shoulder and said, “Okay, Cas. Okay.”

“Mr. Novak?” asked a woman in a white coat as she approached them. Castiel nodded. “I’m Dr. Wilson. Sorry for the wait.”

“It’s okay.”

She put on a pair of gloves after setting his chart down on the cart next to them, gathered some things from somewhere behind him, then came back around, sitting on a rolling stool and putting a tray of the supplies she’d need on the cart next to his chart. “Alright, Mr. Novak, let’s see what we’ve got here.”

Gently, she took the towel away from him, tossing it in a hazard waste bin, and took a look at his stomach. Nodding to herself, she and Sam helped him take off his shirt, Sam taking it to hold onto for him. Castiel quietly thought to himself that it also belonged in a hazard waste bin, but Sam seemed too polite to allow.

“I see you’ve been a cutter for a while now. Are you getting any help?” she asked as she loaded up a shot needle with some clear liquid.

“Yes,” he told her.

“Yeah? Are you sure?”

“With all the pills I take and therapy sessions I go to, I’d say yes, I’m sure.” Castiel didn’t know where this sudden anger came from. He felt exposed and vulnerable sitting on the bed, shirtless, his scars and cuts for the world to see. He felt like both defending them and wishing them away.

She smiled at him before poking the needle around the deep, long cut. “Very good, Mr. Novak. What medications are you on?”

Castiel listed them off to her, and she scribbled some things on his chart. A _lot_ of things. Maybe even how he was hopeless and should be taken away again. He knew he had to be honest with her, regardless. When she was finished, Castiel took one quick glance at Sam, hoping Sam wouldn’t reject him after this.

“I, uh…” he cleared his throat. “I have Persistent Depressive Disorder. I was diagnosed last summer, after almost three years of major depression. Dr. Tan, my doctor, said it’s just the biochemical make-up of my mind, and it’s a life-long condition.”

Dr. Wilson just nodded in what seemed to be understanding and said, “You realize we’re going to have to contact your doctor and therapist since you’re still a minor and this is an incident of your disorder.”

He nodded.

“And we’re going to have to call your parents.”

“Brother,” Castiel corrected. “My brother is my legal guardian. But uh… Can it wait? A-at least until we’re finished here?”

She considered him a moment, sighed, then nodded. “Okay. I insist he be the one to pick you up unless he agrees otherwise, but he’ll still need to come here to sign some papers.”

“Okay,” Castiel agreed, albeit bitterly. He was going to turn 18 in two months. Why couldn’t he had just waited until then? Or better yet, not have fucked it up in the first place.

They were mostly silent while she worked, Castiel biting his lip and looking anywhere but Sam. When she finished, she cleaned him up and bandaged him.

“I’m going to prescribe some pain killers, and I want you to take it _even if_ you want to feel the pain, you understand? You could go to your primary doctor or back to me in two weeks to have the stitches removed. You have to be sure not to get them wet, so I suggest you take sponge baths-“ How ironic, he thought, “-or cover them thoroughly before showering. And despite how much it might feel satisfying to your disorder, please, do not scratch, pick, or rub your stitches, okay?”

Castiel nodded again. She patted his knee and gave him an encouraging smile. Then she told him a nurse would be by with discharge papers his brother would need to sign after she called him, making sure of his number and Castiel’s other emergency contacts.

Sam took her place on the stool and roll to face Castiel with a stern expression.

“How bad is it, Cas?”

“What do you mean?”

“Your disorder.”

Castiel sighed, rubbing a hand through his hair. “I’m managing it.”

“No, you aren’t, Cas. Coming to the ER in the dead of night because you cut yourself so deep you needed stitches is _not_ managing it.”

Castiel didn’t answer, just looked down at his hands, picking at his nails. “Please don’t tell Dean,” he said after a few moments.

“He could _help_ , Cas. We both can. Please, stop shutting us out. Let us _help_.”

“You can’t _help_ , Sam,” Castiel suddenly snapped, finally looking Sam in the eye. “No one can _help!_ It’s just who I am, okay? I’m fucked up! Always have been, always will be. This is a _life-long_ thing, Sam. This is forever. So, tell me, please, how in the entire _fuck_ are you supposed to _help?_ ”

Sam looked at him pleadingly. “The same way we have been, Cas. Let us take some of the burden. Remind you to take your pills, to drink water. Talk to _us_ instead of – of,” he gestured to Castiel’s stomach.

Castiel let out a bitter laugh. “You don’t get it, Sam.”

“No, _you_ don’t get it, Cas. You’re letting your disorder get to you. Control you. The truth lies, Cas, remember? What you’re saying, what you’re trying to convince me? It’s a lie, Cas. You can get better, and we can help. Please.”

 _The truth lies._ He hadn’t thought of that phrase in a while. Not since Christmas.

He slumped back, rubbing his forehead. “Please, just… don’t tell Dean.”

Sam let out a frustrated sigh and fell silent. Not too long after that, Gabriel came flying through the doors, wearing his silk pajamas and waffle slippers, looking like a fierce archangel.

“Castiel!” he called out as he rushed to him. “What happened?” His eyes fell to his stomach. “Oh, Cassie…”

“I’m so sorry, Gabriel.”

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

“You were home?” asked Sam incredulously.

Gabriel nodded, not looking at Sam.

“I, uh… Well, I didn’t want to see _that_ look on your face,” Catstiel answered, pointing to Gabriel’s sad expression full of pity. It wasn’t a complete lie, especially considering he saw no disappointment in Gabriel’s expression.

Gabriel considered him a moment, then wrapped him in a bone crushing hug, smashing his face uncomfortably against Gabriel’s shoulder to avoid his stomach. “I don’t give a flying fuck what you don’t want to see, if you need to go to the hospital, you wake me, okay?”

“M’kay” Castiel mumbled against his shoulder.

Gabriel talked to the doctor, signed some papers, gave Sam an equally bone crushing hug as well as told him he could have anything from his shop free of charge. Castiel didn’t want his bloodied shirt back, so Sam gave him his jacket to go home in. Castiel thanked him sincerely, apologized again, and soon they all left the hospital; Sam going his separate way towards his home, but not before grabbing pamphlets on depression, Castiel noticed.


	13. Something's wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Sammy… Look, I… Fuck it, I… Sam, I really care about Cas, okay? From what I gather, I know depression has something to do with this, and I know something happened last night, probably because of the whatever-the-fuck. I know you aren’t sick. Fuck, you’re here, aren’t you? It has to do with Cas. Please, just… You know what, no. I don’t need to ask your fucking permission.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to those of you who have commented throughout this entire fic, seriously. 
> 
> Most of you have mentioned about relating to this in some way, and I just want to say - as glad as I am that I have, so far, remained totally authentic no mattered how scared or worried I've been laying myself and depression out there - when you guys comment and voice that shows me how you guys understand. You accept me. It helps me, especially since all this started with no other goal but figuring out my own whatever-the-fuck. 
> 
> I love you guys. Thank you, really.
> 
> Also, shout out to my beta.
> 
> TW:  
> mentions of self-harm  
> depression symptoms  
> depression descriptions  
> references to suicide  
> reactions to depression from non-depressive persons who don't entirely understand

Dean woke up bright and early, wishing he felt as well rested as seven hours should have made him feel. But it wasn’t the end of the world. Other than being worried about/pissed at Cas, everything in his life was still going good. Almost scary good, he thought as he stretched, dipping his feet in a cool cove of his blanket. Lisa had sent him pictures of Ben, who was the most adorable baby on the planet. His grades were still good despite not having Cas’ help as up late. He already had a good chunk of change saved up to get an apartment after graduation. Sam still seemed happy. Bobby seemed happy. Hell, everyone did but Cas.

But he wasn’t thinking about Cas. Nope. No. Not at all. He was done thinking about Cas. He would be there when Cas pulled his head out of his ass, but he was done thinking about him until then.

On his way to the bathroom, he heard hushed mumbled voices. Not something he normally heard in the mornings, he quietly made his way down the stairs, listening in. He paused when he heard Cas’ name.

There went the not-thinking-about-him thing.

“How in hell could the boy go three years with it and ain’t no one notice?” Bobby grumbled.

“I’m figuring that’s why Cas moved here. It sounded like he wasn’t getting any help before. And with how he’s been the last few weeks, I’m worried he’s trying to refuse help now. God, Bobby, you should have seen him…”

“Balls… Cas is one stubborn hardhead, ain’t no question about it. Let’s just hope the kid won’t let it kill him.”

“Do you think that’s possible? Do you think his PDD could kill him?”

“I don’t think it can kill him. But I do think it could drive him to kill himself if he ain’t careful.”

“Yeah, that’s what I meant. I mean, he did himself some serious damage last night, Bobby. What’s going to happen next time if he doesn’t call anyone for help?”

“Well, from the way you tell it, Gabe won’t let that happen. I won’t be surprised if he did daily stomach checks.”

“He should. We all should.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to tell Dean?”

“Of course I want to tell Dean!” Sam hissed. “ _Cas_ doesn’t want me to tell Dean.”

“Stubborn sonofabitch.”

“Yeah. I’m sure he wouldn’t like it if he knew I told you.”

“You had to tell me, Sam. You sneakin’ back in past 4 in the mornin’. I would’ve tied you down in that chair until ya told the truth.”

“Yeah, maybe…” Sam mumbled.

As they continued on in their conversation, Dean snuck back upstairs, locking himself in the bathroom, needing peace and quiet to process what in the entire fuck. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from storming downstairs and demanding what in the entire fuck. Because what in the entire fuck?

It was several moments before his brain was awake enough to process.

Okay, so. Something happened with Cas. Something involving Cas. And Sam. Involving Sam sneaking out to join the happenstance of whatever with Cas. And it had something to do with his stomach?

Daily stomach checks?

_“He did himself some serious damage last night.”_

_“It could drive him to kill himself.”_

_“God, Bobby, you should have seen him…”_

Whatever the PDD was drove Cas to do himself “serious damage”.

Damnit. Dean knew he should have trusted his gut and confronted Cas weeks ago. He had the right mind to go straight over there right now and throttle him, but the fact that, obviously, something was wrong was stopping him. But there was someone he could confront-

No. Cas didn’t want Dean to know, apparently. He probably wouldn’t get many answers if he asked Sam straight out. But he was going to get to the bottom of this. If Cas was in danger – a danger to himself – he was not going to just let it go. Not this time. Cas wasn’t going to push him away.

Enough was enough.

He showered and dressed and headed down to the kitchen, whistling like he didn’t have a care in the world. Sam and Bobby were at the kitchen table still, where Dean assumed they were earlier. Bobby looked his normal self, and Sam looked like absolute shit. It looked like he didn’t get any sleep at all. His hair was all messy, he was still in his night clothes, and he looked like a kicked puppy.

“Jesus, Sam, what happened to you?” Dean asked, stopping at the doorway. For a moment, he hoped Sam would come out and spill the truth, but he knew that hope wasn’t going to get him anywhere.

“Just, uh… Had a long night.”

“How come? Something wrong?”

“No, no, just… couldn’t sleep. Um… not feeling well.”

Bobby grunted and shifted in his seat. “Yeah. You run along to school, Dean. Your brother’s gonna stay home today.”

Dean circled around the table, putting a hand on Sam’s forehead – exactly what he would do if he didn’t know he was being bluntly lied to. “You don’t have a fever, so that’s good.”

Sam pushed Dean’s hand away. “I’ll be fine, Dean. Just… go to school.”

Dean sighed. “What’s wrong with you? Sore throat? Nauseous?”

“I got him, Dean,” Bobby grunted. “Run along now.”

Well, even if he didn’t know something was going on, that would have him suspicious. “Uh huh…” he said, looking back and forth from Bobby and Sam. “Want to tell me what’s really going on here?” Exactly what he would say if he didn’t already know something was going on.

“Nothing, Dean,” Sam persisted. “I’m just not feeling well. Just, go to school. I’ll see you when you get home.”

“Uh huh…” Dean said again. Allowing for a lingering stare between the two of them, he walked over and grabbed his bag by the door. Shrugging it on his shoulder he said, “Well, I’ll have my phone on me. If you need me.”

“Thanks, Dean,” Sam said, nodding to seemingly encourage Dean’s leave.

…

As soon as Dean got to school, he headed straight to homeroom. He was willing to bet that if Sam was staying home, Cas was, too, but he still wanted to be absolutely sure he wasn’t there. Just in case.

A few minutes after he took his seat, Crowley came wandering in. He sat in his usual seat in front of Cas’ next to Dean, turning to face him.

“I had an interesting call last night,” Crowley said.

“Yeah?” Dean asked, not really paying much attention, too busy watching the door for Cas.

“Indeed.” Crowley pulled out his phone, unlocking. “One from a Mr. Castiel Novak, 2:06 AM.”

“What?” Dean’s head snapped to Crowley.

Instead of answering, Crowley showed him his phone, and sure enough, there it was in his missed calls.

“You didn’t answer it?” Dean asked incredulously.

Crowley shrugged. “Needed my beauty sleep. Figured if it was important, he’d call again.”

“It was important, Crowley!”

His eyebrows went up. “Do tell.”

And told Dean did, about how Cas had been pushing them away, not drinking any of the water, refusing help, everything Dean overheard that morning, and how something bad apparently happened last night that Sam got involved in.

By time he was finished, the bell had already rung, and it was clear Cas wasn’t coming to class.

“My, my,” Crowley mused. “I wonder if he tried to take his own life.”

“What?!” Dean hissed, trying not to draw attention to them.

“Just a thought. He obviously did something, then tried to undo it.”

Dean ran a frustrated hand through his hair, shaking off Crowley’s comment. It was Crowley after all. “Do you know what PDD is?”

“Not at all. Let’s find out.” Pulling out his phone again, Crowley pushed a few buttons before saying, “Pervasive Development Disorder.”

“What the hell is that?” Dean asked.

“Something to do with autism,” Crowley waved the question away, pocketing his phone once more. “I don’t think that’s the right PDD.”

“Okay, well, what do we do?”

“Do what you want, I don’t care.”

“Crowley, come on. One of our friends is in trouble. We got to do something.”

Crowley smirked. “The only thing I’ve got to do is pick up my phone if he calls again. If nothing else, to satisfy my curiosity.”

Dean threw him a glare. “Why you gotta be a dick, man?”

“Why do you have to be a love-sick puppy?”

Dean rolled his eyes. They were quiet a few moments, then Dean asked, “Why did he call you, anyway?”

“Because I, unlike others, don’t make a big deal out of things and fuss over a broken toy. I would have called the police or ambulance or whatever he needed and been done with it.”

“You have no soul, you know that, right?”

Crowley chuckled.

“Ugh, Crowley, what do I do?” Dean asked, rubbing his forehead.

Crowley sighed. “Have you ever thought about just talking to your boy toy?”

“He straight up told Sam not to tell me. Both Sam _and_ Bobby were covering for him. How do you think that conversation would go, huh?”

“Well…” he pointed to Dean and said in a deeper voice than his, “’I know you have PDD and I demand to know what it is.’” Then he pointed towards Cas’ empty desk and said in an even deeper voice, “’I don’t want to tell you, Dean. Leave me alone.’” Back to Dean with the not so deep voice, “’If you don’t, I won’t fuck you anymore,’” then back to Cas’ desk and the deeper voice, “’Fine, okay, I’ll tell you.’”

Dean stared at him deadpanned for five whole seconds before he said, “Why are we friends?”

“Because, darling, if I did that about anyone else, you would be laughing.”

…

Dean spent the next class with his jacket bundled in a heap on his desk to hide his phone. Sam was usually the one who could just do a few clicks of research and find an answer to what anyone wanted to know. But Dean didn’t make a B on his research paper for nothing.

The first clue he went with was the _“he did himself some serious damage”_ and both Crowley and Bobby referenced suicide. So, he googled self-harm; that was a hella dark road he went down.

A lot of what he read about depression seemed to fit Cas. But at the same time, not. Like, in a way he could understand and get it, but for months now, Cas had been talkative, smiling, energetic… Yeah, maybe he was _getting_ depressed since school started back after break, if the way he pushed everyone away was anything to go by.

Though, he seemed that way when he first got here. He came here because of this PDD, right? Because Michael couldn’t take care of him anymore. Maybe his disorder made him prone to depression? Maybe when things got hard, he just went that way? A move could be hard, as Dean knew all too well. What could have possibly have happened between New Years and the day they got back to school though?

Then again, when he showed up at the party, he looked off. Tired. But he was always tried; his disorder made him tired. He was horny that night, that was for sure, but maybe Dean let it distract him too much. Maybe something was wrong and Cas was just hiding it? Was it the Michael angle? The guy did go practically all break ignoring everyone. He just assumed he was busy… What if he was busy with whatever happened to spark another depression? And Dean just let Cas distract him sexually meanwhile Cas was thinking about self-harming and suicide…?

_“He did himself some serious damage last night.”_

_“It could drive him to kill himself.”_

_“God, Bobby, you should have seen him…”_

Well, if depression was in the picture, then Dean would have to learn about it – the real it. He always assumed depression was a part of their father’s issues, but Cas was the opposite of him.

Dean spent his next class on his phone again, reading up everything he could about depression.

And it was… absolutely nothing like he thought. Other than his father, Dean associated depression as being… well, extra sad. He knew it was like, seriously, seriously sad, and it caused people to lose interest in things and sleep all day and drink a lot. But the more he read, depression was…

It was like a monster. There were different kinds associated with so many different horrible things, Dean didn’t bother reading about them or trying to parse through them. All he needed to know was that it was a fucking monster, a monster that could kill.

What was more nauseating was that it was a monster that killed you by making you kill yourself.

_“He did himself some serious damage last night.”_

_“It could drive him to kill himself.”_

_“God, Bobby, you should have seen him…”_

Was that what Cas tried? Had this monster really convinced him he was better off dead?

When class ended, he flashed his shiniest and most charming smile at the old woman in the front office telling her that his brother was sick - which she said she knew as Bobby had called before school started - and that Bobby had a work emergency. That Bobby barely had time to let him know what he needed to do for Sam, let alone call the school. She was very understanding, and simply added Dean’s name under Bobby’s absentee permission slip for Sam.

He hated to admit it, but Crowley was right. If he tried talking to Cas, and Cas was absolutely insistent that he did not want Dean to know nor want Dean in his business, then fine. He would accept it, and try to find peace that Sam and Bobby knew. They could help. They _would_ help. Bobby wouldn’t let him get close to something bad. And, by the sound of it, neither would Gabriel.

When he knocked on Cas’ door from the street, he wasn’t at all surprised to see Sam open the door.

“Dean?!”

“I need to talk to Cas, Sam.”

“Wh-… What are you _doing_ here?” he hissed, pushing him away from the door and stepping out with him, shutting the door firmly behind himself.

“Sam… Look, I know something is going on. Cas is… hurt, or sick, or something. Something is _wrong_. And I need to talk to him.”

“Dean,” Sam warned, running a hand through his hair.

“Sammy… Look, I… Fuck it, I… Sam, I really care about Cas, okay? From what I gather, I know depression has something to do with this, and I know _something_ happened last night, probably because of the whatever-the-fuck. I know you aren’t sick. Fuck, you’re here, aren’t you? It has to do with Cas. Please, just… You know what, no. I don’t need to ask your fucking permission.”

He pushed Sam aside, yanked open the door, and all but ran up the stairs.

“Cas!” he called out, throwing open the door at the top.

Cas was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the couch, beard and all, wearing plaid pajama pants and a black undershirt.

“Dean?” Cas gaped at him.

Sam came up behind him. “Sorry, Cas, he just showed up and demanded to speak with you.”

“Cas,” Dean said, “Are you okay?” He sat next to him, trying to resist the urge to touch him, reach out and feel the solid mass of Cas, there, alive.

“I…” Cas looked from Dean to Sam. “I’m fine. Why… why are you here?”

“He knows something happened, Cas,” Sam said. “I’m sorry. I was probably a little obvious this morning.”

“You and Bobby were _too_ obvious,” Dean threw at him. He turned to Cas, “Look, um…” Well, he didn’t actually think of what he was going to say. He sighed, turned to face Cas fully, bending his leg on the couch and pressing it against Cas’. After a moment of Cas and he staring at each other, he threw over his shoulder, “Stop hovering, Sam.”

Sam awkwardly shifted on his feet and eventually made his way around the couch and sitting on the other side of Cas.

Once Sam was seated, Dean cleared his throat.

“Cas, I… I know something went down last night. You called _Crowley_ past 2am and he didn’t answer, and then I wake up to find Sam looking like he hadn’t slept in a million years, and they hurry me off to school, and you were absent…” That was the most he could give without embarrassing himself by admitting he eavesdropped that morning.

Cas bit his lip, glanced at Sam, then looked down and started picking his nails.

“Please,” Dean began. “Don’t… don’t do this. I know something happened, you’ve been pushing me away for weeks, and damnit, Cas. Something’s wrong. Something is wrong, and damnit, _I am here_. I want to help. I want to be there for you. Fuck, if you tell me it would help if you’re eating your weight in shrimp, I would help you; I’d be at the stove in a heartbeat. I’ll bribe a shrimp boat. Please, Cas. Something bad happened last night, something really bad is happening to you, and just… please.”

Dean was beyond caring how desperate he sounded. What he read about depression really scared him, and the thought that Cas, _their_ Cas, _his_ Cas could have that monster nibbling on him broke his heart.

“Cas,” Sam said quietly beside him. “I really think you should let him in.”

It felt like they sat there forever, Cas picking at his nails and not looking at either of them.

Finally, Cas sighed and said, “Dean, can you excuse us? I… I just want to speak with Sam a moment.” He made a move to get up, but Dean put out a hand to stop him.

“No, wait, I, uh… I’ll wait outside. You don’t have to get up, Cas. I’ll... I’ll go to the deck.” He stood, gave Cas a pat on the shoulder, and left. Though he didn’t descend to the actual deck, he stayed on the landing of the stairs, hoping against hope that Sam was convincing Cas to spill the beans to him.

It was cold, and he could see his breath. He continued to chant in his head, again and again, that if Cas didn’t let him in, he had others. Bobby knew. Sam knew. Gabe obviously knew the truth. He only knew Gabe as the town’s jokester, but from what he saw since Cas moved there, there a whole other side of the man Dean didn’t know about. He trusted Bobby and Sam, and he could learn to trust Gabe.

The thing that was bugging him to no end, though, was that he didn’t trust Cas.

He wanted to, so much; he did until after break. If Cas tried hurting himself after weeks of pushing everyone away, everyone and everything that could help – tried _refusing_ help, well… He didn’t trust Cas not to do it again. The only silver lining was that he _didn’t_ think Cas really _didn’t_ want help. What Dean both guessed and hoped was that it was the monster _making_ Cas do that. Still, if there was anything and anyone in the whole damn thing Dean didn’t trust, it was the monster.

He was pulled from his thoughts by the back door opening and Sam stepping out.

“Where’s Cas?”

“He went to lay down for a bit. He’s… going to think about things, I think.”

“You think he’s going to think?”

Sam shrugged. “I asked him to think about it, and then he said he was going to go lay down.”

“Well ain’t that just nifty.”

“Listen, Dean, he’s going through a lot-“

“I know, Sam. That’s been his company line since he got here. But you can’t convince me he doesn’t want help.”

“He’s… _getting_ help, Dean.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

“Then what are you talking about?”

Dean let out a frustrated sigh. “He called Crowley, and who knows who else, before he called you.” He lifted his eyebrows in question hoping to confirm that was how Sam got involved.

Sam nodded. “I guess. You both said he called Crowley.”

“Exactly. That’s who you call when you don’t want help. He could have called Crowley again, and again, making him answer. Crowley said himself if it was important, Cas would call again. But he didn’t. He called you. And if he really didn’t want you to know what’s going on with him, you know how stubborn he can be. You straight up wouldn’t know.”

“I kinda stumbled onto it, Dean.”

“Bullshit. Whatever happened last night, with how everyone’s acting, I’m willing to bet a hospital visit was involved, am I right?” Dean wasn’t an idiot – self-harm, suicide, hospital.

Sam looked around as though he was looking for something to conveniently interrupt them, but when nothing did, he sighed and nodded.

“And did he demand you wait in the waiting room, or did he let you stay with him throughout the whole damn thing?”

Sam shifted on his feet, nodding again shyly.

“Not to mention he tried to go around Gabe, or so it looks like, even though we _all_ know Gabe was bound to find out if he raised the red flag at all. You tell me, Sam. What’s that psychological shit you ramble on about? Does that sound like someone who desperately _wants_ to push everyone away?”

“Well, the Gabe thing wasn’t a thing, or whatever. He knew Gabe would find out, he was just avoiding it for as long as he could.”

“Yeah, okay, I get that, but come on, Sammy.”

“I know, I know. I thought about that too. I asked him why he didn’t just drive himself, and he said he was scared and worried and didn’t think about it. Though, I don’t think he would have been able to anyway. He was really upset when I got here, and where-... well, with what happened, I doubt he could have really sat in the position you need to drive without it hurting more or doing more damage.”

“Sit-… sitting? What could have happened to make it hard to sit? It’s not his ass, is it?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Stomach.”

“Oh, that’s right.”.

Sam eyed him suspiciously. “’Oh, that’s right?’” he repeated.

Oops. Dean shrugged, “I, uh, may have overheard you and Bobby talking this morning. Something about ‘daily stomach checks’?”

“Dean,” Sam sighed, rubbing his temples. “You were eavesdropping on us?”

“Well, Sammy, I hear you say Cas did himself some serious damage, damn fucking right I’m eavesdropping,” Dean barked at him.

Suddenly the back door swung open, and there stood Gabe in silk pajamas and fresh pillow indentions on the side of his face. “What the hell are the Winchesters doing on my stoop?”

“I, uh, came here earlier to check on Cas. Dean showed up demanding answers,” Sam reported with a shrug.

Gabe rolled his eyes and stepping back into the kitchen, leaving the door open as he spoke. “I think we’re all demanding answers, kid.”

After a moment glancing at each other, Sam and Dean followed Gabe back inside, slowly crossing the kitchen and sitting at the counter facing a tired and grumpy looking Gabe pick through the refrigerator. “I feel like fucking Michael. How could _not_ have noticed? And _all these months_. I thought he stopped, y’know. I made sure nothing sharp was around, and it didn’t look like anything sharp started appearing anywhere. Damnit,” he cursed quietly seemingly himself, sniffing some potato salad. “He was getting better. I wish I knew what threw a monkey wrench in his recovery.”

Dean chose not to comment on the “anything sharp” bit in hopes Gabe’s rant continued and he’d get more info. “Anything sharp” fell right in line with “doing himself damage”. If he didn’t know any better, that sounded like self-harm. Was Cas cutting himself? Judging by the shifty looks Sam was giving him as Gabe spoke, the answer was probably yes, he was.

He also didn’t want to point out Gabe was being loud enough to get Cas’ attention or wake him if he already fell asleep. Cas may need his rest, but he kind of really wanted Cas involved in the conversation.

“Cas doesn’t talk that much. He never did, even when he was little. It’s so fucking hard to know what’s going on in his fucking head. And I know, in the grand scheme of things, it’s not _that_ big of deal. It’s a bump in the road, but we’re still going forward.” He gave up on the fridge and switched to picking through his candy stash in the cabinet above the microwave. Dean ignored all the orange medicine bottles, but did make note that there was a lot of them. “Last night might have been a blessing in disguise, anyway. Because apparently, my little brother thinks recovery doesn’t involve putting the blade down, and if he thinks it’s all fine and dandy and not a big deal, then he ain’t really recovering, is he?”

“Thanks for the support, Gabriel, as usual,” came a rough, gravel voice from behind them. “And thank you so much for announcing to the world that I’m a cutter.”

Cutter. Dean kept himself from outwardly reacting.

Gabe looked shocked for a moment when he turned around to face Cas, then went back to tired and grumpy. “Don’t they know?”

“Sam knew,” Cas mumbled, pushing past Gabe and looking in the fridge himself.

“But… you and Dean? I mean, aren’t you guys whacking dicks?”

How was Dean not surprised Gabe knew? Maybe it was because he was pretty sure everyone knew.

“I never took off my shirt,” Cas mumbled again, so low Dean almost didn’t hear him.

“Jesus, Cassie. Way to be sexy.”

“Hey, hey,” Dean interrupted, feeling a need to defend their sexual escapades. “Cas don’t need to be shirtless to be sexy.”

Cas cleared his throat, hiding his face in the fridge like he wanted to fridge to eat him right there.

“Well,” Gabe clipped, apparently settling on a pop-tart and turning to leave the kitchen. “He knows now. Never hurts to have more support, baby bro.” And with that, Gabe was waddling across the living room and out of sight down to the hallway.

Once Dean heard a door shut, he said, “He’s right, Cas.”

Cas slammed the fridge door, harder than necessary, and whispered, “I’m not even hungry; what am I doing?”

“Let’s go sit on the couch and talk?” Sam suggested.

Finally, Cas turned to look at them. He looked tired, but resolved. “Okay.”

They got up and made their way to the living room, the brothers sitting on either side of Cas on the couch. Dean’s hand immediately found its way to the small of Cas’ back, rubbing hopefully soothing circles with his fingers. Fuck not touching. “Talk to me, Cas.”

Cas cleared his throat again. It took him a few weak glances to eventually hold Dean’s gaze. They all seemed to be on the edge of their seats, both literally and figuratively, but Dean wasn’t going to push more. Instead, he just waited, as patiently as he could.

Finally, Cas said definitively, “I have Persistent Depressive Disorder.”

“Presis-… I don’t get it. What is that?”

Dean could see Sam’s face bitch behind Cas before Cas said, looking slightly amused, “It’s a disorder… where you’re depressed… persistently.”

“Kinda all in the name, Dean,” Sam spat.

Dean hung in his head for a moment, filing that away as something to laugh at later when it was more appropriate. “Alright,” he said, looking back up. “So, tell me about it, what does this mean? What does it cause; what does it mean for you?”

Cas sighed. “In my case, it’s genetic. Most likely from my biological mother. It’s just… the biochemical imbalance of my mind.” He looked down, seemingly avoiding Dean’s gaze and altogether avoiding Sam. “Also in my case, it’s a life-long disorder. I was diagnosed after a few years of what they call ‘major depression’. The way I grew up didn’t help much and might have enabled the imbalanced. My dad always blamed me for ruining his marriage – I was a product of an affair, you see. When my mother died, the Novaks had to take me in. My step mother couldn’t bring herself to raise me, so she took off. Anyway, not to ramble…” He took another breath. “Dad didn’t want me after a while, so Michael took me in. I didn’t think anything of the ugly thoughts, it was just who I was. Who I’ve always been. But when it started getting worse, Gabriel got suspicious, and then Michael and Gabriel caught me cutting. So here I am.”

“Okay,” Dean nodded. “So, you have a bio-whatever imbalance, a dead mom, a bitch step-mom, and a dick dad. Definitely not the best hand to be dealt to a kid.”

“No, Dean, I would say not,” snapped Sam. “And throwing it in his face-“

“It’s alright, Sam,” Cas smiled. “It’s a very accurate summary.”

Dean threw a _See?_ look at Sam, then placed the hand not rubbing ministrations against Cas’ back on Cas’ knee. “So, you moved here. I’m guessing Missouri is your therapist, then?”

Cas nodded, looking back at his fingernails. “Yes. I’m on several medications – as well as my PDD, I’ve done some damage – unknowingly – to my body. Turns out what I thought was just my thick hair shedding a lot was actually my hair falling out,” he huffed a humorless laugh. That explained the shedding, Dean thought. “Anyway, I was really unhealthy. Missouri and Dr. Tan worked together to come up with a plan, and I… I don’t know. Thought it was working. I thought I was getting better, but apparently, I…” he rubbed his face, then knocked Dean’s hand off his knee by replacing it with his elbow, hunching forward and burying his face in his hands. “I just fucked it up like everything else.”

“Whoa, nuh-uh,” Dean said sternly, putting the hand previously on Cas’ knee on his shoulder. “None of that. Look, I suspected depression had something to do with what’s been going on, and I did some research. That isn’t you talkin’, Cas. That’s the depression. You haven’t fucked anything up, you hear me? You’re at war, here, Cas. Depression sounds like a nasty monster, so this ain’t easy. You lost a battle. It happens. You just gotta retreat some and regroup.”

Why was he using war analogies? He just made all this sound extremely worse. Way to comfort. However, Castiel seemed to relax at it. A lot, actually. Maybe he wasn’t wrong.

Maybe depression was a war.

“He’s right, Cas,” Sam chirped up, putting a seemingly encouraging hand on Cas’ other shoulders. “Recovery is hard. You aren’t just going get better overnight. Or even over a few months. And you definitely can’t do it alone.”

Cas took a shaky breath through his hands, voice muffled a little by them when he said, “I know. I know. I know. Logically, I _know_.” He threw himself back, letting his hands fall and closing his eyes as his head landed on the back of the couch - Dean barely got his hand on his back out of the way in time. “But you don’t understand. I… I’m just so tired.”

Sam and Dean exchanged worried glances, and then Dean forced his arm around Cas’ shoulder, pulling him close despite Cas’ apparently need to become one with the couch.

“Then we’ll rest, Cas,” he said. “We’ll rest up before we regroup. And we’ll take all the time we need.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to add an important health note.
> 
> Mostly, depression kills by getting one to kill oneself. However, that's not always true.
> 
> Both in Cas' and my case, our depression led us to unknowingly unhealthy paths - physically. Cas' VD level. Yeah, that was mine. Including losing hair and the like. Another year going like I did, and I would have caused lasting damage. Depression can absolutely kill you without your own hand. 
> 
> Depression is a monster that if after years of it being unable to get you to do what it wants, will do it itself. Three years undiagnosed, and I'm far from physically recovering after only a few months. 
> 
> Please... This fic was written before I got actual help. Remember that, if anyone is considering their own mental health while reading in comparison. 
> 
> Please.
> 
> And also remember you don't actually have to be an alcoholic to go to AA meetings. Free therapy is free therapy. You also don't have to lie. Don't pretend an issue you don't have. So many different kinds of free groups meet all the time, and they accommodate those who just simply need help. Help is always out there.


	14. The monster wants me to himself tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “That monster had its claws in you good, Cas. That’s what those are. Scars from its claws.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, you sharing your stories as well is just amazing to me. Absolutely amazing. I can't even begin to describe how touched I am. We are definitely not alone in our struggles. Keep fighting, you guys. <3
> 
> TW:  
> mentions of self-harm  
> depression symptoms  
> self-depreciating thoughts

Castiel and Gabriel met with Missouri the next day to try to figure out what happened to cause, what Castiel was adamant about, was a relapse. Castiel was embarrassed and felt horrible confessing he had been cutting the whole time. Missouri, of course, seemed completely unsurprised. He confessed he made a particularly deep cut and enjoyed where it was. That it felt good. So, he just kept deepening it each night instead of making new ones, until it was too much.

Fuck, he was so embarrassed.

“Tell us what you’re thinking, sugar.”

Gabriel and Castiel sat on opposite ends of her couch, and Castiel was picking on the rug with his shoe. He shook his head. He didn’t want Gabriel to know where his line of thinking was going.

“Don’t you shake your head at me. We know you ain’t thinkin’ anything good, so spit it out.”

“I’m fucking stupid, okay? I get it. I’m fucking idiot, so can we just let it go?”

“You’re not a-“ Gabe started but was cut off by Missouri.

“What you mean?” Missouri asked. “What makes you feel stupid?”

Castiel heaved a sigh, shaking his head. “I knew. Somewhere in my mind, I knew deepening it would eventually… I’m stupid, okay? I fucked up. I don’t know why I kept…”

_Because you’re stupid. You’re a disgusting, lazy, selfish, stupid piece of shit._

“Maybe because you wanted to be found out?” Missouri suggested.

“What?” Castiel asked incredulously. “I may be a lot of things, but I’m not an attention whore.”

“That’s not what she meant, Cassie.”

“Yeah?” he threw at Gabriel. “What else could she be implying?”

“What I was implying,” Missouri said, leaning forward and looking stern, “was that somewhere in you, you might actually _want_ to stop cutting. Instead of adding to you scar collection, you kept digging at one until you landed yourself in the ER. And now you’re going to have to be really sneaky to cut again.”

Castiel didn’t say anything, just went back to picking at the rug. That seemed far-fetched, but something about it made him feel better.

“And,” Missouri continued, “you called a friend to help you. You let someone else in. You exposed your secret to Sam and let him help you. You tell me, Castiel. Five months ago, if you cut so deep you needed stitches, would you have done that?”

Castiel thought for a moment. No… no, he would have got himself together and just drove to the ER himself, no matter how much sitting hurt or what it did. The other night, it didn’t occur to him to even try to do it by himself. He wanted help. He was scared, and he didn’t want to have to shut that down and face it all alone.

“Huh,” he said.

Missouri chuckled. “That doesn’t sound like a complete relapse to me, sugar. It sounds to me that you still wants to improve. I would even say, still improving.”

Gabriel sighed and looked relieved. “See, Cassie. You’re getting better.”

Castiel scooted forward, crossing his arms on his knees and laying his forehead on them. It stung his stitches a little, but he ignored it. “What the fuck is wrong with me? Why is this so fucking hard?”

“No one ever said recovery would be easy,” Missouri answered. “But believe me, sugar. It’s worth the effort.”

…

Castiel didn’t go to school the next day either. It was a Friday, so Castiel had three days to regroup, as it were. Gabriel and Castiel spent the morning cleaning Castiel’s room and doing all his laundry. Castiel had to stop about every ten minutes to work up some more energy to continue, but Gabriel didn’t seem deterred. Gabriel let him rest and did most of the work himself.

Then he and Gabriel sat down a made a list of all the ways that could make Castiel’s life easier. Gabriel seemed relieved when Castiel said he didn’t want any razors for shaving anymore. He wanted an electric razor to more quickly and effortless trim his beard because shaving just seemed a lot to do in the mornings. He knew Gabriel was relieved for another reason, and Castiel secretly felt that not seeing any razor blades anywhere for a while could only be helpful.

They also got Castiel a shampoo/conditioner/body wash combination so that literally all Castiel would have to do was get in there, wash all at once, and get out. Castiel felt embarrassed how much that made him feel better.

Gabriel created a chore schedule, something super simple for Castiel to follow. Castiel felt like a child, but agreed it would eventually be helpful.  He had to start small anyway so he wouldn’t get overwhelmed.

On Mondays, he would clean the kitchen counters.

On Tuesdays, he would clean his toilet.

On Wednesday, he would do the dishes that night, which included bringing dishes out of his room if there were any.

On Thursday, he would take out the trash.

And on Friday, he would invite a friend over.

Scheduled socializing. Might as well.

They decided that every Sunday both he and Gabriel would do laundry. Castiel wasn’t surprised at all that Gabriel quickly made up a laundry game, but was surprised that he was looking forward to it. Whoever washed the most and put it up neatly won the game that week. The winner got to choose something super embarrassing the loser must do.

Gabriel wanted the first round to be that Sunday, but agreed to start the next week since all of Castiel’s laundry was finished and wouldn’t have much to be washed anyway.

Unfortunately, that set Gabriel into changing three times the next day. Thus, the laundry wars began.

Sam took Castiel to a sporting goods store to buy a lot more work out clothes, one for each day of the school week and for each run. Gabriel seemed pleased that the Laundry Wars indirectly helped motivate Castiel back into exercising.

Dr. Tan upped the dosage of Castiel’s Bupropion, which also apparently could help with addiction. Gabriel decided to trust Castiel again about taking his morning medication. Dean, however, went from a morning text of _“Don’t forget your pills”_ to _“Did you take your pills?”_ thus forcing a reply from Castiel.

On Monday, Dean reminded him that morning to bring his water bottle, and Castiel felt himself a little happy Dean wasn’t deterred from helping Castiel despite learning what a burden he was.  Having Sam and Dean know the truth was actually a great feeling, and their support did wonders for him. They both apparently did a lot of research on depression and his disorder, and at that rate, they probably officially knew more about it than he did. It was a little funny to Castiel how their help changed with it.

Instead of bringing him water or refilling his bowling pin for him or making sure he drank enough, they showed up to school with matching water bottles and joined him in the goal of at least two liters a day. Instead of just encouraging Castiel to join Sam running again once his stitches were out, Sam made mile goals with him and talked with him about marathons coming up and training. Dean did the same in Weight Training.

It was like they finally understood he didn’t need to be babied, that those things were the equivalent of giving chicken soup to a person with a cold. That these were _good_ things he was working towards, not something barely maintaining him. Castiel was amazed how much that change helped him. He needed support, not care-givers.

They also set about complimenting him a lot. It wasn’t over baring, and they were actually genuine - or at least seemed to be.

“Your art looks amazing, Cas. How do get those lines to do that?”

“Why do you got to be so fucking smart all the damn time? Where you in advance placement at your old school?”

“Hey, that’s a great essay. Did you use the same format for our Art History paper?”

“Lookin’ good, Cas. Good thing you can’t work out or I probably wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off ya.”

What was interesting to him psychologically was that the more they did this, the more the others started to do it. He didn’t know if it was because most compliments came with a follow-up questions, and the others, too, wanted to know those things. Or, if it just a monkey-see, monkey-do thing.

Crowley, of course, didn’t join in. In fact, his insults increased, but all with good humor. Like his way of joining in.

…

Castiel was still so tired, but he knew one thing that would make him feel better. So, when Friday night came, it was Dean he invited over.

“So is this your mandatory socializing or a booty call” Dean asked as Castiel led him to his bedroom.

“Can it not be both?” Castiel cooed, closing the door behind Dean.

Dean wiggled his eyebrow, slipping his arms around Castiel’s waist, kissing him. In no time, Castiel was pressed up against his door, moaning against Dean’s tongue searching his mouth, rutting against him already wanting friction.

Hell, Castiel was ready to drop to his knees right then, but upon making up his mind to invite Dean over, he also made up his mind about one other thing as well. If he was letting him in, might as well go all out.

As Dean started working his mouth around Castiel’s jaw and neck, Castiel said, “Wait, hold on, Dean. I, uh… I want to show you something.”

“Yeah?” Dean teased. “What, did you get some new toys?”

Castiel chuckled. “No. Nothing like that. I, uh…” He pushed Dean away to look at him. “I just want to get something out of the way so hopefully it won’t interrupt us before we get too riled up.”

Dean cocked an eyebrow. “Okay.”

Gently, Castiel pushed him backwards until he was sitting on the bed with Castiel standing over him. He took a steadying breath, closed his eyes, and took off his shirt. He let it fall to the ground, but he didn’t want to open his eyes until whatever Dean’s immediate reaction was, was over.

He swallowed, waiting. Dean was completely silent, and just when Castiel was about to worry, he felt soft, warm fingers tracing some of the scars. Castiel had a clean bandage over his stitches, and while Dean stayed clear of it, he still caressed around it. Then, to Castiel’s utter surprise, he felt lips on them. He looked down and saw Dean gently, almost lovingly, kissing his scars that crisscrossed across his lower abdomen. When he was done, Castiel didn’t know what expression he had on his face, but it made Dean jump up and cradle it.

“That monster had its claws in you good, Cas. That’s what those are. Scars from its claws.”

Castiel let out a shaky breath, wrapping Dean in a hug. He might have totally ruined the moment, but he was content to stay in comforting arms until it returned.

…

The next Friday, Castiel didn’t feel like having anyone over. At all. It had been a really hard week. He was late to school twice, could barely focus in class, and when he went to Dr. Tan to have his stitches removed, he just felt like a piece of shit, a failure, and someone doomed to misery.

But the thing was, he was pissed about it. Dean kept referring to his PDD the same way Castiel always had in his head.

A monster.

Dean was right. This was war. So, if the monster didn’t want Castiel seeing anyone, then he was going to see everyone.

By eight o’clock, the whole group was over, pizza was ordered, music was playing, Gabriel’s liquor cabinet raided, and a heated debate was starting.

“What college you go to can defined your _entire_ future,” Kevin shouted, always getting louder the more he drank.

“Only if you’re wanting a career where it matters,” Crowley replied.

Castiel was quiet and wasn’t drinking. He was in the kitchen, basically avoiding everyone, fixing all their drinks and staying out of the way. As he was clicking through Gabriel’s laptop, looking at different cocktail recipes to test on the others, Dean came up behind him, wrapping his arms around him and thumbs rubbing gently at the scars under his shirt.

“Someone’s not being very social at his own party,” Dean whispered in his ear. “If you want us to leave, we will. I’ll kick everyone out for you. Or Gabe could burst in here and pretend to be all mad about his liquor and scare everyone off.”

Castiel chuckled, leaning back against Dean. “It’s okay, Dean. I’m just tired.”

“Sleepy tired or tired tired.”

“Tired tired. The monster wants me to himself tonight.”

“Oh, so that’s why you’re throwing this little shindig, huh?”

Castiel nodded, then abruptly twirled around in Dean’s arm, wrapping his own around Dean’s neck and kissing him. “I don’t know why I didn’t tell you about my disorder from the beginning. You knowing is actually pretty helpful.”

Which was the truth, even if he wasn’t going to confess his unspoken fears on the matter.

Dean smirked. “Imagine that.”

Castiel hummed and laid his head on Dean’s shoulder, letting Dean hold some of his weight. He didn’t know if Dean was actually trying to start something sexual or not, but he wasn’t in the mood. Having Dean’s arms around him, though, showing him affection – special affection just for him – felt more amazing to him at the moment. He just hoped Dean wouldn’t let go any time soon.

“That’s not the point! The _point_ is-“ Kevin was shouting.

“The _point,_ ” Sam interrupted, “is that you’re freaking out, Kev!”

“Yeah,” laughed Benny. “What until the rejection letter comes before you do that.”

“Benny!” Charlie chastised.

Castiel chucked.

“Our friends are weird,” Dean commented.

“At least they aren’t Republicans,” Castiel reminded him.

Dean snorted, “True dat.” After a few moments, Dean asked, “What about you, Cas? Thinking about college?”

“I don’t know… I was thinking about art schools, but the monster took that away too. I’m so far behind on getting a portfolio together; I’m not going to be able to do it by the deadline.”

“When’s the deadline?”

“March 16th.”

“How many piece would you need?”

“I wanted 30.”

“30?!” Dean asked, pulling back to look at him.

“I already have 15. Thought if I worked really hard, I could… I don’t know.”

“Be the best?” Dean smiled.

“Shut up,” Castiel mumbled, laying his head back down on Dean’s shoulder. “Not the best. Just… good. I wanted to prove I deserved to go to art school or something.”

Dean sighed. “You do deserve it, Cas. You’re really fucking good. Don’t let the monster tell you otherwise.”

Castiel hummed his acknowledge, but desperately wanted to change the subject. “What about you?”

“Me? College? You have met me, right?”

Castiel chuckled.

“Nah,” Dean continued. “I’m just going to work full time at Bobby’s until I figured things out. Already got some money saved up for an apartment.”

“Oh… yeah, that’s a good idea. I should be saving money or something.” They were quiet a while, Dean rubbing Castiel’s back in a way that melted his sore muscles, before Castiel said, “I don’t think I’m ready. For the future.”

“You will be.” Dean placed a kiss in his hair. “We all will be.”

“ _THIS IS OUR FUTURE WE’RE TALKING ABOUT!!”_

“Well,” Dean chuckled as Castiel grinned, watching Kevin stand up and yell, “maybe not Kevin.”

…

Turned out, Castiel wasn’t either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't originally mean for a cliff hanger, but the next chapter is a time jump to a month or something later. For the record, this is where mine and Castiel's timeline divides because his went further than mine at the time.


	15. I feel much better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “That’s not true, Dean. You’re just pissed off. Get over yourself. You said so yourself, Cas is at war. And he’s losing, Dean.”
> 
> “Yeah, well,” Dean sighed, turning away and heading back out the door. “That’s what happens when you don’t fight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys. Your comments aren't just helping me, they're helping others too. I can't thank all of you enough for sharing your stories. 
> 
> This fic is now taking a darker, heavier turn, so please, please, reach out to support systems if something starts triggering you or something. 
> 
> http://www.randomacts.org/crisis-support-network/  
> That's the link and website of the You Are Not Alone crisis support network created by Jensen, Misha, Jared, and the rest of the Supernatural peeps. They are always there to help.
> 
> TW:  
> depression symptoms  
> depressive thoughts  
> self-depreciation  
> depression causing anger and violence  
> misunderstanding of depression  
> losing a support person  
> underage drinking and driving  
> mentions of self harm  
> self harm  
> suicidal thoughts  
> mentions of bullying

Castiel had always been thankful Missouri didn’t have a ticking clock in her office.

She was on the third floor, so she usually kept her curtains open, allowing sun to beam down without nosy passersby. It was getting to that time of year in the middle of March where the sun was shining happily, giving the illusion it was warm. An illusion that tricked Castiel every time when he stepped outside and wasn’t braced for the cold.

That warm happiness of the sun was shining through her windows now, casting a glow around the earth tones of the room. They were sitting in silence, and if she did have a ticking clock instead of just a regular one, it would have been a super cliché scene out of a bad teenage drama film.

He had been there for about twenty minutes without saying a word, and Missouri patiently sitting there, staring at him, was getting under his skin.

“Why do I always have to lead the conversation, Missouri? Why don’t you fucking start for once?”

Missouri chuckled. “Are you sure that’s what you want? For me to lead the conversation?”

“By all means, _Missouri,_ ” he hissed out.

“Well, alright. Tell me about your fight with Zachariah. The one you got suspended for, almost a couple of weeks ago.”

Castiel rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. “There’s not much to tell. He had Garth cornered, saying some fucked up shit, and I stepped in.”

“What was he saying?”

“Just sexual slurs. Garth came out as asexual, and Zach decided that deserved a beating.”

“So you stepped in.”

“Mhmm.”

“Tell me, Castiel, which sounds more like ‘stepping in’… Stepping between the two having the fight and calmly warning Zachariah before things escalated? Or coming up behind Zachariah, pushing him into a wall, attacking him, and fist-fighting your way down a flight of stairs?”

Castiel snorted, keeping his arms cross but shaking his leg now. “So everything would be A-OK if I said, ‘Zach, stop before I punch you’ first?”

“Yes.”

Castiel shook his disbelievingly. “Of course. Why didn’t I think about _that_ instead about how my friend, the one who’s spent all school year finally learning to defend himself and stand up to his bullies, was being cornered, having his sexuality thrown at him making him too thrown off and scared to fight back? Silly me. My bad.”

Castiel went back to looking out the window, watching birds circle around the sky above. He was glad the birds were coming back. He missed the chirping during the long, long winter.

“So I guess it’s safe to say you aren’t sorry?” Missouri asked, making Castiel’s head snap back to her.

“Fuck no. He deserves way more than what I did.”

“He deserves more than a broken nose, three broken ribs, a dislocated knee, and a broken ankle.”

“Yes. He put Garth through Hell for _years_. My first fucking day, Garth had a bruise, right here..” he pointed to his left jaw. “And Garth acted like that was _nothing_. Yeah, Zach deserves worse. I can’t wait for the day I read about him getting fucking arrested for whatever-the-fuck. I only hope that his homophobic ass drops the goddamn soap.”

Missouri nodded, and they fell silent again. When it was clear Missouri was going to say anything else, Castiel snapped, “Thought you were leading here. Or are we done for the day?”

Missouri considered him a moment. “Tell me about Sam.”

“What about him?”

“You two got in a fight, too, right?”

Castiel scoffed, “I never touched Sam!”

She held up a hand. “A verbal fight. Tell me about it.”

Castiel sighed. “I pissed him off.”

“How so?”

Castiel didn’t say anything, just shook his leg and tried to calm this slithering anger that had made itself at home inside him for weeks now.

“Honey, we can do this all day. I don’t have any other appointments, and Gabriel is willing to pay me whatever to keep you here as long as I need to. So either start talking, or I call Gabriel to bring you a sleeping bag.”

That was true. Gabriel’s patience for him went out his Camaro’s window when he crashed it.

“I don’t think that’s actually legal,” Castiel retorted.

“You’re right. But honey, you ain’t seen half my tricks.”

Castiel had to suppressed a wince. He already knew Missouri could be dangerous if she needed to be. A couple of weeks after his stitches were removed, Castiel begged her to switch his appointments once a week. Going twice was just too much. It was too overwhelming. Then the second time he ditched his appointment, while he was at Roadhouse playing pool with Ash, the sheriff named Jody came in. What he thought was an innocent, fun game with a charming woman turned out to be a guilt-trip to go back to therapy. _Guilt-trip_. Not threat.

Missouri was good. He’d give her that.

“So we fought. People do that.”

“What about?”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “You already know what it was about.”

“Do I?” she asked with a smirk. “You never told me.”

“Like that’s stopped you before.”

“Whether I know or not, you’ve got to talk.”

Castiel ran a frustrated hand through his hair before crossing his arms again. “I kept blowing off our running meets. Not all the time, but it got more and more. He showed up one Saturday morning, determined to drag me out. I refused. We fought. Gabriel eventually told him to leave.”

“And?”

“What ‘and’? That was it.”

“When was that, again?”

Castiel swallowed, looking back out the window. “Just before my fight with Zach.”

“Has he asked you to go running since?”

Castiel shook his head, biting his lip. He couldn’t blame Sam. He really couldn’t. Sam had been struggling to keep him running for weeks. Of course he got fed up. He should have gotten fed up sooner. He realized what a burden Castiel was and gave up. He knew that was coming. He knew that would happen.

He just didn’t think it would hurt this much.

“Have you tried talking to him?” Missouri asked.

Castiel shook his head again. Sam had been ignoring him in classes. Castiel hadn’t even tried to sit with them at lunch for a long while now. It would hurt too much. Especially Dean.

“Talk to me about Charlie.”

“What about her?” he asked, voice cracking a little.

“You fought with her, too, didn’t you?”

Castiel sighed. “Apparently back during Halloween, I got more drunk than I knew. I slept in the same bed as her – we’re both gay, nothing happened – but I changed in front of her or something. She’s known about my cutting since then. She’s left me alone about because she knew I had others and I asked her to, apparently. I don’t remember. When I started… I don’t know, being _me_ , she confronted me. She wanted to make sure I wasn’t… I don’t know. Suicidal or something. I was so… shocked, I guess, that she knew… I didn’t react well.”

“That was last week, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Have you talked to her since?”

Castiel shook his head. “I get it, Missouri, I’m a piece of shit. We don’t have to go down the list.”

“You aren’t a piece of shit, Castiel. I don’t hear or see anything that would label you that.”

The angry energy evaporated, and he felt tired. So, so tired. And he felt a lump grow in his throat. In a month and a half, he ruined everything. Why are they even bothering with this?

_Why am I still alive?_

“Talk to me about Dean.”

With that, Castiel shot up and headed to the door. He was done. So fucking done. But Missouri beat him there.

“Don’t, sugar. It’s okay. Sit back down, and let’s talk about Dean.”

“I don’t want to talk about him,” he snarled.

“Do you not want to fix things with him?”

“I-…” the question made him take a couple of steps back. “There is no fixing-“

“You hush and sit down. There is fixing it.”

“ _I. do. not. want. to. talk. about. Dean.”_

Missouri sighed. “Okay. But you sit your ass down.”

“Fine,” Castiel mumbled, turning and sitting back down, arms crossed.

Missouri took a few minutes to resume her seat, studying Castiel closely. When she did sit back down, she said, “Tell me about your car crash.”

“No one got hurt.”

“You got hurt.”

“Barely,” he said, unconsciously shoving his braced wrist deeper into where it was crossed with his arms.

“Why did you wreck?”

Castiel bit his lip again, this time out of embarrassment. But she already knew, so why avoid it. “I had been drinking… a lot.”

“With Crowley, right? You had him take you to that silly teenaged speakeasy at the next town over.”

“Yes.”

“You drove there, drank too much, and tried to drive home.”

“Yes.”

“Are you sorry about that?”

“Of course I am! Who do take me for?” There was that rage again.

“A depressive spiraling out of control, that’s who I take you for. You wanted to go to that speakeasy to get hammered, running away from your problems, and I’m not convinced you didn’t go _knowing_ you were going to drive drunk. Tell me I’m wrong.”

He couldn’t. He knew he couldn’t. He started shaking his leg again, staring at the ground.

“I just need to know one thing about that, Castiel. Was your goal self-harm, or suicide?”

“I don’t know,” he whispered. Because he didn’t. It was two days ago, and he just wanted everything to just _stop_ already. He still did. Everything, everyone, just _stop_. He needed a pause button – to halt the world so he could breathe. He closed his eyes and sighed. “I just need to breathe.”

“What’s that?”

“I need to breathe!” Castiel was suddenly shouting, on the edge of his seat staring daggers at her. “I just need everything to stop! Just fucking stop! Stop! _Stop!_ STOP!”

Missouri nodded, and they fell silent again. It took a while for Castiel to reel in his anger and calm his breathing. Eventually he slouched back, resting his head on the couch and watching the ceiling.

“You missed the deadline to turn in your portfolio.”

“I know.”

“You seem to be aggressively avoiding anything to do with your future.”

“I know.”

“You don’t want a future.”

Castiel shrugged. “It’s too much.”

“Go on.”

“It’s all too much. No one gets it. No one understands. I’m trying. I really am. I’m trying so, so fucking hard. I am. And so are they. They’re trying to get it. They’re trying to understand how it all works. But they’re tired. And I’m tired. But they’re not ever going to understand, are they? The only people who get depressives are other depressives. They just don’t understand why I can’t pick up the phone sometimes, or why I can’t bring myself to look at their texts. Why I just can’t do something sometimes. And it’s like they want me to snap out of it. Just get up and quit being like that. It’s been long enough. Why aren’t I better? Why I am still like this? And I just can’t answer them. I’m supposed to be getting better. But it’s too much. It’s all too much. They’re asking for too much. I can’t do it all. I can’t plan out a future, do all the applications and scholarships, take tests, go to interviews, work, go to school, stay social, keep up with chores, keep up my appearance, not cut, and just live life like a normal person – not with this. I can’t do that _and_ recover. I just can’t. It’s all too much.”

…

Sam was in the living room, wearing sweats, a sweater, and socks, feet kicked up on the coffee table while he watched a documentary on sharks. It was a lazy Saturday afternoon. Bobby and Dean were out working in the shop, and though Sam could be doing something productive, he decided to take the day off. He was caught up in all his homework – actually ahead of both history classes thanks to Cas, even if they hadn’t worked together in a couple of weeks now. Normally if he didn’t have any schoolwork, he’d out in the shop, helping and hanging out. But Dean had been in a pissy mood, which when he was working, put Bobby in a pissy mood.

He had no patience for that today. He just wanted a nice, peaceful day.

Which was over when he heard the doorbell ring.

He peeked out the living room to see who it was. It was Cas, hands shoved in his pockets while he waited on the porch.

He looked awful. Sure, he could look awful in a way of tired, disorder awful, but Sam had gotten use to him looking at least healthy. Color in cheeks, not nearly as pale, toned and fit. Hell, even his _hair_ looked healthier than when he first moved here.

When he opened the door, he was surprised to see how much worse it was up close. He had a deep cut on his left jaw with stitches, surrounded by an ugly bruise, a cut peeking out of his hairline on the left side of his forehead with butterfly stitches, and another ugly bruise around the end of his left eyebrow.

“Damn, Cas. Did you get in another fight?”

“Um… no,” he said, turning to look to his right. A tow truck was pulling out of the drive, leaving what Sam recognized as Cas’ Camaro, the front end of the car completed destroyed. Gabe was talking to Bobby, and Dean stood back a little, looking from the car to Cas. They were too far away for Sam to see what Dean’s expression was.

“Fuck, Cas. Are you okay? What happened?”

Cas rubbed the back his neck, and Sam noticed a brace around his wrist. “Yes, I’m fine. It’s, uh… a long story. We would have brought it here sooner, but I had to stay overnight at the hospital, and then when I got home… well, it’s here now.”

“I see that. Why didn’t you call us?”

Cas looked surprised. Of course, just because they were fighting Cas wouldn’t think they would care. Cas shifted his feet, apparently nervous, and looked down, shrugging.

“Listen, Sam, the reason why I came out here with the car was because I…” He took a breath and looked back up at Sam. “I wanted to apologize. I know I should be better, but sometimes I get-“

Sam held up a hand to stop him. “I know how you can get, Cas. It’s okay. I was just giving you some time until whatever was going on passed.”

Cas shook his head. “Please, Sam, I-… I _need_ you to understand.” Cas looked pleadingly, desperate. “Please. It wasn’t… Our fight, I, please, I need you to know it wasn’t just me being difficult. Well, it was, but…” He looked back down, rubbing his hands roughly through his hair. When he looked back up, he eyes almost looked haunted. “It helped, at first. Our mile goals, training for next year’s half-marathon, picking a city, travel plans. All of that. It was fun. It _is_ fun. I… would _love_ to do it. But, Sam… It’s too much, right now. Please, please understand. I just… I can’t. Putting that kind of pressure on our runs, it just… it-“

“It overwhelmed you.”

Cas closed his eyes. “Yeah,” he said, voice cracking a little.

Sam put a bracing hand on his shoulder. “Cas, that’s fine.”

“I’m so, so sorry.”

“Hey, no, it’s all okay, man. We can just go back to running. No pressure. If when the time comes and we both feel up to it, we could go, but there’s no point in doing it if it’s not fun, Cas.”

Cas nodded, looking back to his car. Bobby and Gabe were still talking, and Dean was leaning against the car’s side, arms crossed, staring at them. Sam wanted to flick him off or something for so blatantly watching them, but Cas spoke and got his attention.

“I’ll work on it, Sam. I promise. I’ll put it on the,” he closed his eyes again, shaking his head, “on the growing list of things to work on.” He looked back up at Sam, and Sam was surprised to see Cas’ eyes red and a little watery. “I’ll do better. I’ll get better. I promise.”

Sam didn’t know what to say. Take away his injuries, Cas looked defeated. Utterly defeated. Overwhelmed, crushed, desperate, and fucking _defeated_.

Sam was officially scared for him.

“It’s okay, Cas,” he said, finally removing his hand. “You don’t have to work on it, okay? You’re fine. _We’re_ fine. Once you heal up, if you want to start running again, I’m all for it. If you need a break for a while, that’s fine too. There’s nothing to work on here, okay?”

Cas didn’t look like he believed him, but he nodded. “You forgive me?”

“Cas, man, I forgave you the moment I left your apartment.”

Cas gave him a small smile. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

Cas glanced towards Dean again, gulped, and said, “I should be going. Thank you, again, Sam. I’m glad we’re okay.”

“Me too,” Sam smiled, pulling Cas into a hug. “Hang in there,” he whispered. “Remember, the truth lies, okay? Just… remember that.”

Cas nodded against Sam’s shoulder but didn’t say anything. Breaking the hug, Cas gave another little smile, then walked down the porch steps and into Gabe’s idling car.

Sam turned towards his brother and waited for Dean’s gaze to leave Cas and fall on him. He jerked his head towards the house to tell Dean to meet him inside and went in. He was opening a water bottle by time Dean came in through the back door.

“What?” he barked.

“What do you mean ‘what’? Cas was in a wreck!” He slammed his water bottle down on the counter a little too hard, slashing water down on his hand. He shook it off, staring at Dean incredulously when Dean just shrugged. “What, you don’t care?”

“It was his own damn fault.”

“Excuse me?”

“Gabe told us all about it. He went to some speakeasy with Crowley and drove drunk. Got himself wrapped around a tree.”

“Oh, okay. He, a 17-year-old, drove drunk and wrecked. Silly me for thinking we had to worry.”

Dean sighed. “What do you want from me, Sam? He’s walking and talking – looked fine to me.”

“He’s _not_ fine, Dean. You should have seen him! He’s not doing good.”

“And?”

“And?!” Sam’s eyebrows shot so far up, it almost hurt.

Dean finally started to look like something other than forced apathy. He pointed towards the front door and raised his voice a little when he said, “Cas has been pushing us away since he got here, man. He doesn’t want our help or concern. He’s been making that _very_ clear from the beginning. We just didn’t listen. Why should I get all butt hurt and go out of _my_ way when he doesn’t even help himself?!”

“He is helping himself, Dean. He’s trying! I don’t know what went down between you two, but are seriously going to abandon him now?”

“I’ve done everything I can, Sammy. I don’t got anything left to give.”

“That’s not true, Dean. You’re just pissed off. Get over yourself. You said so yourself, Cas is at war. And he’s _losing_ , Dean.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean sighed, turning away and heading back out the door. “That’s what happens when you don’t fight.”

And with that, he slammed the door.

…

“Welcome back on this fine Saturday,” Missouri chuckled as thunder and lightning fought for dominance outside her windows. The sky was so dark that it was almost black. Tornado watches had been issued, and he even heard some churches were canceling Sunday-school and Saturday evening services.

They had moved his appointments to Saturday’s so they could stay longer when need be. It had been three weeks since his car accident. Over a month since Dean had even talked to him. Everything seemed to return to how they were before the fights with everyone. He apologized to Charlie and had Sam with him as he told Charlie everything. She was incredibly understanding and admitted that she herself was on an antidepressant as well. Castiel knew she lived with her aunt, but he never knew it was because her parents were dead. Charlie had spent years blaming herself for their car accident, and she was trying to get better herself. She wanted college to be a fresh start for her. He was happy for her.

Sam and he had resumed running, though he dropped out of Weight Training. He instead was taking Racquetball. Missouri had chastised him for that, accusing him from running away from Dean, to which he said, “Yeah, and?”

Yes, on the outside, around people, he seemed perfectly fine.

Inside had been all out war, an on-slaughter of ugly thoughts. He never could bring himself to do any work for any colleges. He was incredibly distracted, and though he was still making 100s on tests and quizzes, he wasn’t doing any of his homework, turning in any art, painting, or woodworking pieces, and wasn’t participating in polisci. Several teachers had tried working with him and asking what was wrong. Eventually he had Missouri update them, and the teachers started grading on a curve for him.

He stopped working at Gabriel’s shop altogether. He told Gabriel it was to catch up with all the school work. But it wasn’t. Originally, yes, that was what he wanted, but he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. So instead he spent his afternoons listening to music, battling against the monster.

Going out to spend time with friends and Ms. Tran wasn’t as hard anymore. He knew it was the medicine. Because of Gabriel, Castiel was always clean and had his clothes kempt. So, he was always ready to go. He found it easy to converse with them, have fun. He could put aside his ugly thoughts and focus on the now.

It was when he got home that it switched.

So many dark thoughts. Morbid thoughts. And they made him feel so much better. Shredded pieces of all the pretty ones he tried to use as weapons against the ugly ones being stitched together into thoughts he never had before.

_You deserve peace. You need everything to stop. You know you won’t ever truly be better. Sure, you could have some good years, but relapses are inevitable. The people in your life deserve better. Just look at Dean and Michael. They didn’t deserve their lives to be disturbed by you. You can’t help; it’s just who you are. You’re trying so hard, and have been for so long now. You should be so proud of yourself. You held on for so long. You deserve peace. The Ultimate Peace. Don’t you think it’s time to let go? Everyone would understand. They care about you. They love you. They would want you to finally end all this pain, this agony. Just think how great it would be to finally make it all just stop._

These thoughts made him feel so much better. They made him feel amazing, actually. A clear and welcoming exit door with nothing but peace and contentment waiting for him. He didn’t understand why he didn’t every truly consider it before.

“You’re looking much better,” Missouri observed. Castiel had been looking out the window, a slight smile on his face.

“I feel much better.”

Missouri grinned, proud. She was proud of him. Clearly, the decision he was slowly reaching was the right one.

“So, what do you want to talk about today?” she asked.

Castiel thought for a moment. Everything in his life was almost great. All his friends were doing great; they were happy, moving towards exciting futures. Gabriel was doing well, successful as always. He and Kali were starting to get serious as well, and Castiel couldn’t be happier for him. Michael got a big promotion and was moving to Manhattan. He was excited; thrilled even. Castiel didn’t much care about school, colleges, his future or the like anymore. Those wouldn’t matter soon anyway. Maybe. And if he didn’t take the exit offered to him, he would still have plenty of time to figure it out. It was funny now, how worried he was just a few weeks ago.

There was just one dark spot.

“Dean,” he said finally.

Missouri’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh?”

“I…” Castiel had to be careful. Missouri had a habit of reading him like a book. He was careful not to think those peaceful thoughts outright in therapy just in case she really could read his mind. “I want to fix things.”

“Start from the beginning,” Missouri instructed. Castiel didn’t look at her, just kept his eyes down, picking at his thumb nail.

“Dean was amazing… I see that, now. He was… he was so fucking supportive. And I used him. I took advantage of that. He came over every Friday and let me fuck him stupid. He waited for me every morning by my locker. He walked me to my car every day after school. He texted me all the time – like, _all the time_. He understood, y’know?

“It was the small things. Like how he refilled my bowling pin along with his. How he would sit so close and put his arm around me. We would call my disorder a monster. I could say something like, ‘the monster is yelling at me’ when I wasn’t finishing an art piece or painting or woodshop whatever in enough time, and he…” He swallowed. “He would sit with me until we got the monster to shut up, and for me to get the energy to work on whatever I needed to. Even back in February and the one time I cut… he kissed it. Didn’t yell or was disappointed. Just… supportive.”

“So what happened?”

“I was angry.”

“How so?”

“I don’t fucking know. _Angry_. I was pissed. I couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t get thoughts to shut up.

“And we weren’t just fucking once a week; it had gotten to several times a week sometimes. It… I don’t know, soothed me. We weren’t together, so I couldn’t ask for affection. Sex was the closest I could get.

“So I snuck out that night, climbed a tree, went across his roof, and knocked on his window. Woke him up. He was worried – I never did anything like that before. I kept just trying to kiss him, y’know? He finally asked if I was okay, and… and I lost it. I told him to stop fucking asking that because the answer was always the same. No. No, I am _not_ okay. We fought. I threw at him that I was nothing but a fuck-toy to him, that he didn’t care that much about me. At best I was a friend who was a good lay. He… tried to disagree, but when I pointed out that there were only two, maybe three occasions he showed _affection_ instead of sexual advances, he didn’t – he _couldn’t_ – say anything. I left. Bobby and Sam were waking up from our yelling anyway.”

“Has he tried to talk to you since?”

“The next day, but… I didn’t want to hear it. I know Dean. He carries this weird sense of duty or something with him. All he was going to do was both make me feel like I’m important and also reject me. I… I couldn’t handle it.”

“What do you mean, make you feel important and also reject you?”

“You know, tell me how amazing I am, how much he does care about me, how to not listen to the monster. And about how it wasn’t me, it was him, or some other bullshit. That since Lisa, he didn’t want a relationship, blah, blah.”

“I see. But you did want one.”

“No, not exactly. See, you remember me telling you about Balthazar?”

Missouri nodded.

“I was fine with being friends with benefits. His dad had taken my dad’s place at the church when he moved away. Balthazar had a spot light on him, and if he came out as bi, the whole community would be outraged. See, my dad caused enough scandal there. They probably wouldn’t stand for another scandal.

“We met at church camp. He came out to me since I was already out. We hit it off. I knew it could never be more, at least not until we were away from the community, but I was fine with it.

“That is, until school started. Balthazar pretended to not even know me. It hurt. But then he came over that night and explained to me that his parents were already suspicious, and if he started openly hanging out with me, they would know something was going on. So I agreed to it. It made sense to me. I was already hated by the community for breaking up Dad’s family, and then when I came out…

“But anyway, Balthazar would say such amazing things to me when we were alone. He knew about the cutting, and he didn’t care – like, in a good way. He was supportive, caring, great. Then when I needed him… It was bad. A bad day at school, Michael had been gone for a while on a business trip. Some kids from the church were saying awful things to me. I just wanted – _needed_ – just a few minutes with him. Have him tell me all those sweet and amazing things he did. But when I found him in the hallway and asked to speak with him for a moment… This girl was with him, she said horrible things to me, told me I wasn’t allowed to around her _boyfriend_. He said nothing, just laughed with the others at the insults.”

Castiel paused for a moment, looking out the window now, collecting his thoughts to keep the emotions at bay. “It was probably hands-down the most horrible moment in my life. I had never been that hurt or crushed before. Ever. I left school, didn’t go back for the rest of the week. Just hid from the world in my room, cutting. Balthazar tried calling; he even came over once, but I didn’t answer the door. I was done. He knew me. He knew I would have never approached him if I didn’t absolutely need to. And he rejected me. To top it all off, he was… Cheating, I guess isn’t the right word. But he had been lying to me. I may be a lot of things, but I’m not a cheater. If I knew he had made promises to someone else, I wouldn’t had been sleeping with him.”

“That sounds just awful, sugar. I’m so sorry you went through that.”

Castiel smiled sadly at her and cleared his throat. “With Dean, I had gotten myself in the exact same situation. Only… it felt worse. Because Dean openly talked to me, hung out with me, everything. Everyone knew we were physically doing stuff, and they didn’t care. But… I just couldn’t take having to hide away other intimacy behind closed doors anymore. Like… when I told him about my PDD, that day, he was… I don’t know. He stroked my back, wrapped his arm around me. Then not long after when I was quiet at a party, he held me for a while. I started that. I think maybe he was trying to intimate something else, but I didn’t let it go that way. I needed that, that night. And then once, in Weight Training, when I was too tired to work out, he sat next to me. Like, _sat_ next to me. He was so close.”

“You wanted more of that, but were afraid to ask for it. So you tried to use sex to get it, but when he knew something was wrong and tried to talk – possibly leading to him saying amazing, supportive things like Balthazar, you just lost it. You couldn’t handle taking that rejection again.”

Castiel nodded. “Exactly.”

“Well, sugar, the only way to fix that is to talk to him. Dean isn’t Balthazar. He doesn’t mind openly caring about you. If you want more and he doesn’t, you two can still be friends. You can talk, work it all out.”

“But if I end up hurt?”

“Aren’t you already hurting?”

Castiel smiled. Yes, that was true. It couldn’t get worse. Besides, he had an exit. He already knew how Dean felt about relationships. If that was even what Castiel was wanting. Still, he knew it would be more than what Dean was willing to give. Love didn’t hurt – lack of love was what hurt. His father taught him that. Instead of focusing on the lack of love, he’d just focus on loving Dean.

Because he did. It was so clear now. He loved Dean, and craved Dean’s love. He just had to let himself love Dean and focus on that.

He would try to talk to him. Let him know how Castiel felt, how much he cared. He wasn’t going to fear it or fear the rejection that would follow or fear losing Dean altogether or fear the pain and heartbreak.

He had an exit that could save him.


	16. Everything will be fine, you'll see

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Sam turned to face each other, Sam looking as furious as he felt.
> 
> “Suicide watch?” Sam asked.
> 
> “Suicide watch,” he agreed. “You call the others – all of them; I’ll go catch Jody.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two posts in one day. Definitely a weekend.
> 
> Things are still getting darker, so for my own peace mind, here's the website agin for the You Are Not Alone crisis support created by Supernatural. If you feel triggered by anything, please reach out and get help.  
> http://www.randomacts.org/crisis-support-network/
> 
> TW:  
> depression symptoms  
> suicidal thoughts  
> suicide scare  
> hiding suicidal thoughts  
> verbal suicide note

**[Received 9:48 PM]  
Hello, Dean.**

Really? After _weeks_. After all the unanswered texts and calls and doorbells and notes in class and stalking in the bathroom and nervously waiting in the Weight Room. Really?

**[Delivered 9:50 PM]  
really? after all this time?**

Dean was in his bedroom, flipping through channels on his box TV that sat on his dresser. He was thinking about calling it an early night and already had on his grey sweats and a white undershirt. He had been having a great weekend – big party at Crowley’s Friday, an after party at Charlie’s Saturday, an easy, lazy day today. All weekend without seeing Cas at all. It was almost like before he moved there. Could he not enjoy it just until tomorrow morning?

His phone buzzed, but he waited until the end of the _Dr. Sexy_ episode to read it.

**[Received 9:50 PM]  
Yes. I have been an awful coward, Dean. I’ve been running and hiding from you. I do not deserve your time because of that, and I understand if you aren’t willing to give it. I was just hoping you might be willing to accept a call from me so I may explain and apologize.**

Well, damn. Dean was gearing up for a fight, and he was not prepared for Cas just to immediately admit fault. Maybe a “I’m sorry” that wouldn’t feel like it covered it at all, but not that.

He didn’t want to talk to Cas. He was still royally pissed. But if Cas was in an admitting-fault mood, then Dean could give him some more things to add to the list.

Without further ado, he clicked off his TV, sat cross-legged on his bed, and called Cas.

“Hello, Dean. Thank you… for calling.” Dean could hear wind blowing into the receiver on Cas’ side. It was ten on a school night, why was he outside?

“Where are you?” Dean asked.

“On the roof,” Cas said simply. “I find it peaceful up here. I’ve been coming up here ever since I lost a round of Laundry Wars, and Gabriel had me stand out here in my underwear and a shirt, holding a giant sign that declared Gabriel the King of Laundry.”

Dean snorted. He thought he heard something about that. That would had been hilarious to see. But he wasn’t going to let Cas stray from the point of the call, so he didn’t say anything.

There was silence a few moments, Dean not sure what to say or how to start, until Castiel spoke. “I used to know a guy named Balthazar, back in my old town.”

“Uh… okay.”

“He and his family were important to our community. I had caused enough scandal being a product of an affair and being gay. So, Balthazar kept his sexuality a secret.”

“I think I see where this is going… Look, Cas, so you had your heart broken by some dick. That doesn’t give you the right to treat _me_ like shit. I ain’t him.”

They fell silent again, Dean beginning to shake his knee a little in frustration. He was just about to say forget it and hang up when Cas finally spoke up again.

“You’re right, Dean. We both know that. And I was a coward for not just speaking with you about it. Balthazar, he… He would fuck me at night and pretend I didn’t exist during the day. When I needed him, he cared more about keeping up appearance and laughing at me with his friends, and apparently, girlfriend, than helping. I know you aren’t him. But I was terrified you would end up like him – that w-we would end up like… that. I know you care. Cared. But I was terrified of the day when I would need something you couldn’t give. That night… The night I yelled at you, that night I came over. That night I wanted something you couldn’t give.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m… I’m just tired of being the one who’s fucked and never flaunted. The dirty little secret kept behind closed doors. I…” Cas’ voice broke. He cleared his throat, but his voice was still tight and shaky. “You’re a great partner, Dean. Sexually, you’re an amazing giver, and you made me feel safe, confident, special... I guess I just got greedy. I wanted to feel special outside the bedroom, too, and I was craving… I don’t know, special attention? So, I clutched onto the only thing that made me feel important and significant, and that was sex with you.”

Dean didn’t what to say. So many emotions were twirling around him, he couldn’t process them at all.

Cas continued, voice a little stronger. “So that night when you were trying to get me to talk instead, something in me just snapped. All those fears came flooding back. And I ran. And I’ve been hiding. Because you can’t give me what I need, which would mean we wouldn’t be able to continue, which would mean the one and only thing that made me feel important and special would be gone. But I realize now that what’s more important is that I don’t lose you altogether. If I haven’t already. It’s more important that you don’t hate me. I… I just wanted to say that I’m so, so sorry. I’m so sorry I used you the way I did, and I’m so sorry I inadvertently crossed a line. I’m sorry I made you angry. I’m sorry I yelled. I’m sorry I ran. Dean, I… I’m so, so sorry.”

Dean tried to open his mouth, but nothing came out. Eventually, he sighed heavily, “Cas…”

“It’s alright, Dean. You… you don’t have to say anything. I just-“ he cut himself off. He was silent so long, Dean would have wondered if he hung up if it wasn’t for the gently wind whistling through the receiver. When Cas spoke again, he sounded eerily calm, like he was in total peace. A complete 1-fucking-80 from before where Dean was sure Cas was crying. “I just, ultimately, really wanted to let you know that you mean so much to me, Dean. You mean more to me than I think I ever let myself know. More to me than anyone ever could have. “

Was that past tense?

“You gave me so much, Dean. I don’t think I would’ve ever met anyone else who could make me feel so safe, happy… special. Like I didn’t just matter, that I mattered _to_ them.”

This was definitely past tense.

“Cas?”

“I am so sorry Lisa hurt you the way she did, but please always remember that not everyone is her. You deserve so much more – so much better. Take time to heal, but don’t give up.”

“Cas,” Dean said, voice dropping deeper. He was on his feet now, heart beating hard and fast against his rib cage. “Why are you saying this?”

“I just… I just really need you to know that. Please, um… Please remember how much you meant to me. How much I cared about you.”

“Cas, what you mean ‘care _d_ ’?”

He heard Cas take a deep breath, but it sounded relieved. “I love you, Dean.”

Before he could call out again, the line went dead.

No.

“ _SAM! BOBBY!”_ Dean tore out of his room and flew down the stairs. He landed a little hard when he jumped the last four steps, but that was the least of his worries. “ _SAM._ ”

“Dean?!” Sam called franticly from the kitchen. Right as Dean turned to run in, Sam was apparently running out to meet him, and they ran into each other. “What the-“

“It’s Cas!” he yelled, gripping Sam’s shoulders tight. “He called – I think he’s about to kill himself. Or at least try to.”

“Balls,” he heard Booby from deeper in the kitchen. He looked over Sam’s shoulder to see Bobby pull out his cell phone. “I’ll call Jody, you call Gabe.”

“Right. Right,” he said, looking at the phone he still had clutched his hand. The screen was lit up from Sam’s shirt touching it.

“We gotta get over there,” Sam said, running around Dean to grab the keys by the front door. Dean didn’t wait for Bobby’s go-ahead, he just followed Sam, pushing to call button for Gabe. Neither he nor Sam were wearing shoes, and the ground was still soggy from yesterday’s storm. He knew his foot was going to cramp later, but he really couldn’t care less.

Gabe answered as Sam was pulling out of the driveway, leaving skid marks.

“Gabe! Cas just called me. He sounded like he was making a big fucking goodbye. He’s on the roof, I think he’s about to-“

He was cut off by a loud bang, Gabe yelling for Cas, voice growing distant immediately. He heard what sounded like a door slamming, so he assumed Gabe dropped his phone and was running to stop Cas. He looked over at Sam, who kept glancing at him, eye wide.

“I think he went to look for him,” Dean informed.

About a minute later, Dean heard sirens in the receiver. Gabe’s shop was just off the town’s square, which was a ten-minute walk from the police station. A two-second drive. An ambulance, however, would take about five minutes to get to Gabe’s. Surely that would be soon enough for whatever Cas might try, right?

A few more minutes after that with Sam going lightning speed, they heard sirens for real, though they were being shut off. Dean hung up, tossing his phone aside, and sat upright, scanning out the windshield for signs of anything as they approached Gabe’s.

Four cop cars and five cops were outside, and more sirens were fast approaching. That would be the ambulance. Thank god.

Without preamble, Sam and Dean rushed to the door. Two police men tried to stop them, but it was futile attempt and only made Dean angry it cost him an extra minute to get upstairs to Cas.

When they burst open the door at the top, Dean had to take a moment to really see what he was seeing. Gabe stood behind the couch, pale and visibly shaking. Jody, Donna, and Victor stood in front of the couch, Victor and Jody with their arms crossed, and Donna bouncing a little on her feet, hands in her pockets. They were all staring at Cas on the couch, a very much alive Cas, who looked annoyed, his arms cocked out, and had just finished yelling, “-omise I wasn’t on the roof to kill myself!”

They all turned to look at the two boys when they burst in. Dean was breathing hard, looking around at all of them, then back at Cas.

“What?”

Cas stood up and stepped closer to him. “Why did you tell them I was trying to kill myself?” he asked. He didn’t look angry at all. He looked worried, actually. Concerned. And, Dean noted, not at _all_ confused.

“Because of the shit you were saying!” Dean accused. “You were talking in past tense, asking me to please remember I deserve better, to always keep myself open to love or some shit, and to always remember how much you car _ed_ about me.”

Cas sighed. He was clenching his jaws. He still looked worried, and to people who didn’t know him better, ultimately calm. But Dean knew exactly what it meant for Cas’ eyes to dart back and forth between his. He was thinking – thinking _hard_ and thinking _fast_.

“That sounds like a break-up to me,” Donna chirped from where she stood between Jody and Victor.

Cas’ eyes stopped darting. He glanced at Donna then gave Dean a small smile. Turning to the officers, he said, “I guess it kind of was. I want more than he does, so we have no choice but to just be friends. Figures,” he huffed a laugh, throwing a shy smile at Gabe. “This is what I get for saying, ‘I love you’.”

Gabe immediately went from pale, shaky, and panicked, to relieved. His whole body relaxed, and he let out a huge breath. “Oh, Cassie… Can’t even fall in love without making a scene.”

Victor chuckled, shook his head, and asked Dean, “What the hell made you think it was a verbal suicide note.”

“I have Persistent Depressive Disorder,” Cas quickly informed him. “With how upset I was at first, and the things I said, I don’t blame him for thinking the worst.”

Victor shoulders slumped a little, and he nodded in understanding. “That sucks, kid.”

“Sure does,” said Donna, face looking sad but voice forever reflecting optimism. “He may not feel the same ‘bout cha, but at least he cares enough to try to save your life. That’s something, yeah?”

Everyone seemed to relax at that – everyone except Sam, Dean, and Jody. Sam and Dean exchanged suspicious glances, and Jody was studying Cas like a hawk.

“Cas, can I talk to you for a sec?” Dean barked, not waiting for an answer as he grabbed Cas’ arm and pulled him toward the kitchen. Victor, Donna, and Gabe began talking animatedly, but Sam and Jody stayed back, watching them leave.

Dean pulled him out the backdoor, down the stairs, and onto the deck. Dean had only ever been actually on the deck when he’d been drinking here and stepped out for a smoke with a few others. And damn it all to hell if he couldn’t use a smoke right then.

“What the fuck, Cas?” he barked again. His voice was deep, and he was breathing hard. He wasn’t so much angry as he was completely panicked. He _knew_ what that call was, and Cas had managed to convince everyone it wasn’t. Which meant he was still going to try.

“Dean,” Cas began, a pleading look in his wide eyes. “I’m sorry you got the wrong impress-“

“Bullshit, Cas. You and I _both_ know that wasn’t a fucking break-up.”

Cas shut his mouth, eyes darting back and forth between Dean’s again. “D-Dean, I… I-I appreciate the c-concern-“

“Don’t even start,” Dean warned, taking a step closer. “You’re planning on killing yourself, aren’t you? That call was a fucking goodbye forever call. Admit it.”

Dean expected more denial, more stuttering, lies, maybe even anger. He most definitely wasn’t expecting Cas to suddenly relax, to smile softly at him, to step up and kiss him.

Dean was so surprised that he wouldn’t have been able to stop Cas if he tried. And it was a kiss unlike anything Dean ever had before. He and Lisa had a goodbye kiss, but this… this was a _goodbye_ kiss. Soft, but firm. Gentle, but pressing. Full of meaning, of unspoken words, an even bigger unspoken apology. Of not just moments lost, but moments that would never be. Kisses that would never be. The way Cas’ hand came up, smooth against his neck, fingers grazing his hair, spoke of touches that would never be. The way Cas pressed his body against Dean’s with his arm around his waist, spoke of embraces that would never be. It was a sad kiss, a loving kiss, a I-hope-you-understand kiss. It was an end-all, be-all kiss. By time Cas pulled back, Dean had a hard lump in his throat and a tear falling from wet eyes.

“Shh, none of that, now,” Cas said softly, thumb swiping away the tear.

“Cas,” Dean croaked, voice breaking. He could feel his lips trembling. “P-please, Cas. Tell me I’m wrong. Tell you aren’t going to try to kill yourself.”

Cas’ eyes were bright, even in the semi-darkness. They were soft, warm, glittering almost with the utter peace on Cas’ face. They were full of life. Didn’t Cas know how wrong it would be to change that?

“Cas, please,” he begged, fisting Cas’ shirt at his hips with all his might. “ _Please_ , Cas. I can’t lose you, not like that. Please, tell I’m wrong.”

Cas took Dean’s face in both his hands, whipping away two more tears as they fell. “It’s okay. Dean, I’m okay. I promise. Stop with this, now. Look at me. I’m okay. I’m okay.”

Dean pulled him into a tight hug, holding onto him for dear life, trying to stifle his tears by burying his face in Cas’ neck and trying to calm his breathing. All the while, Cas stroked his back and strung his fingers through his hair, saying, “Shh, it’s alright, Dean… I’m okay. Everything’s going to be okay… You’re okay… It’s okay, Dean. Everything will be fine, you’ll see.” He kissed Dean’s temple, tightened his hold, and whispered, “I love you.”

Before Dean could say or do anything, the backdoor opened, and Donna poked her head over the railing, looking down at them. “You two doin’ okay? Makin’ up, are we?”

“Something like that,” Cas smiled up at her. Looking back at Dean, his thumb rubbing his cheek, he said, “Are you ready to go back up, or do you need some more time?”

“Swear to me, Cas. Promise me.” He was whispering, knowing Donna was watching them.

Cas’ eyes crinkled a little when he smiled. Pressing their foreheads together, Cas said, “I swear to you, Dean, and I promise you, that everything will be okay.” His voice was so comforting, soothing even. So full of confidence. “Please, don’t worry, Dean. Go home, get some rest.”

Dean sniffed and nodded. Cas held his hand and led him up the stairs and back inside.

Sam’s face was stiffened when he saw Dean’s. No doubt Dean looked like a fucking mess. He smiled at Sam and nodded slightly, trying to let him know everything was okay.

“Well, I think we’re done here,” Victor said. He shook Gabe’s, Cas’, and Dean’s hand.

“Thank you, officer,” Cas said.

“Yeah, thanks” Dean smiled.

“It’s what we’re here for,” Donna chirped, patting both their shoulders. Gabe led the cops out, Jody taking one last suspicious look at Cas, while Cas led the Winchesters out. While Gabe led the others all the way down to the street, Cas stopped at the top of the stairs on the landing.

“Really, thank you, both of you. I really appreciate the concern.”

“You sure you’re okay, Cas?” Sam asked, eyeing him wearily.

Cas smiled brightly at him. “Yes, Sam. I’m very okay.”

That finally made the knot in Dean’s chest relax. Cas was okay. Sam, however, looked more suspicious. “Okay, so,” Sam said. “We’ll see you tomorrow at school, right?”

Cas took a moment, and said, “School is what usually happens on Mondays.”

Sam narrowed his eyes. “We could give you a ride since your car is still at our shop.”

“That won’t be necessary, Sam, but thank you for the offer.”

“No problem. But hey, do you think you could come over tomorrow some time and help me study for our Art History test coming up?”

“I do not think I’ll be available.”

“Why not?” Dean asked, catching on. “Work or something?”

Cas smiled slightly. “Yes. But I’m sure you’ll do fine on the test, Sam,” Cas reassured.

Sam’s jaw clenched. “Well, it’s not until next week. Pick a time that’s good for you, and we’ll study.”

“I’m afraid I don’t… know off the top of my head, Sam.”

“Know when you’ll be available, that is?”

Cas’ eyes started darting back and forth between Sam’s eyes. Cas was usually a terrible liar, so instead of out-and-out lying, usually Cas avoided the truth. Current Events and Polisci had made him an expert at choosing very carefully what to say.

Damnit.

_“Everything will be okay, Dean.”_

_“Everything will be fine, you’ll see.”_

Not once was there as, _“I’m not planning suicide, Dean. I will not kill myself._ ”

“Yeah, Cas,” Dean said, crossing his arms and knitting his eyebrows. “When between now and the test will you be available?”

When Dean crossed his arms, so did Sam, and now Cas was looking between them, narrowing his own eyes. Then he sighed, stepping off the landing and making to close the door. “Sam, you have absolutely no trouble in Art History, and your notes are by far superior to my doodles. I’m sure you’ll do fine, but you know I’d always be happy to help if I could. Now, please, go home. Get some rest.” He reached out, grabbed one of Dean’s hands and pulled it to his lips, kissing it gently. “Goodbye, Dean, Sam.”

He stepped back and shut the door.

Dean and Sam turned to face each other, Sam looking as furious as he felt.

“Suicide watch?” Sam asked.

“Suicide watch,” he agreed. “You call the others – all of them; I’ll go catch Jody.”

…

Castiel made sure to lay on the couch for a while, letting himself be kept in Gabriel’s line of sight. Ease his stress. Gabriel sat in the armchair, talking none stop, trying to ease Castiel’s presumed stress.

“…- but you’re 18 now, so this weekend we’re going to Play in the big city. And let me tell you, putting a place like Play on a road named Gay St is just good advertising, I think…”

It hurt Castiel to see Gabriel’s panic. Almost immediately after he had gotten off the phone with Dean did he hear Gabriel basically screaming his name. Fear streaked through Castiel, terrified something horrible had happened. One look at Gabriel’s face, and he knew. Michael was dead. Something horrific happened, and it killed their brother. But when Gabriel saw that he was okay, he almost collapsed in relief. When the cops showed up – also almost immediately as well – and he realized what the hysteria was about, he was almost scraped his whole plan.

But he gently reminded himself that this was for the best.

_It’ll be okay._

_It might be hard on him at first, but soon he’ll see._

“…- and let me tell you, one day you’ll be this fancy-pants artiste strolling into town to visit lil ol’ me, and you’ll be fit and beautiful and successful and fucking amazing, as always, and you’ll bump into him in a damn jumper covered in grease, living in a dump, and he’ll be sorry. He’ll be sooooo sorry…”

Castiel was watching Gabriel talk, a healthy-amount of liquor in a glass in one hand, the other waving around animatedly. He found himself smiling at him. Since he moved here, he only heard about the wild-side Gabriel, the prankster Gabriel, the fun-loving, free-spirit Gabriel. And slowly, month by month, the town’s people interacted with Gabriel while he was in “brother” mode, and one by one, he watched the town’s people be shocked. He didn’t think Gabriel ever noticed, but he definitely noticed the increase in date offers. Women now think of Gabriel as more than a player. He was the player-on-the-outside, future-best-father-of-the-year-on-the-inside.

Kali thought it was joke, just another one of Gabriel’s plays. That was, until Castiel had to go to the ER. Gabriel had a date scheduled with one of her friends the following night, and he didn’t even bother cancelling. He honestly forgot all about it. Kali came over to confront him and got to see first-hand how Gabriel was in ultimate brother-mode.

Maybe Gabriel and she would get married, Castiel thought.

Something in him twisted in emotional pain at the thought of not seeing Gabriel as a father. He’d be a great father. Unorthodox by far, but great nonetheless.

Castiel could see it now…

Gabriel’s teenage son trying to sneak back into the house, but Gabriel would be up waiting for him, of course. He pulled _all_ the tricks as a teenager and would know what his son was up to. He’d sit in the corner by a lamp – hell, he would go out and buy a lamp after his son snuck out just to do this – and he’d wait until his son was halfway across the living room before scaring him by turning the lamp on. They would both smirk at each other. Then his son would say, “Clean my room and make you s’mores if you don’t tell Mom.” And Gabriel would say, “Throw in _you_ taking _me_ out for your 21 st birthday, and we have a deal.”

“…- I mean, don’t get me wrong. Dean’s cute. And yeah, okay, he cares about you. But what kind of low-life asshole dicks around with a guy for _months_ , acting all caring and sweet, and _not_ expect the guy to fall for him…”

Maybe Gabriel would name his son after Castiel. Maybe he’d name him Cassie. Castiel always thought Gabriel would name his son after himself, to have a Gabriel Neil Novak the Second. But maybe it would be Gabriel Castiel Novak the First. Or Castiel Gabriel Novak the First.

“Oh, Cassie…” Gabriel shot up and knelt beside Castiel, keeping his drink in hand, but using the other to wipe away a tear that Castiel hadn’t realize had fallen. Castiel cleared his throat and sat up.

“I’m okay, Gabriel. You’re right, Dean didn’t think things through. But, neither did I.” His voice still sounded tight, so he tried to clear his throat again. Gabriel offered him his drink as he sat next to him, throwing an arm around his shoulders. Why not, Castiel thought. He downed Gabriel’s drink and sat the empty glass on the table. The burning helped ease the painful stinging in his throat. “Thank you, Gabriel.”

Gabriel squeezed his arm tighter. “You listen to me, Cassie. No one plans to fall in love. It sneaks up on you. Out of nowhere, just _bam_ , and there it is. Especially for realists like you and me. As we’re falling, we rationalize our way through, until suddenly he hit the cold ground, and we know. Very few are lucky to have it returned. Which is why most people settle. But you listen to me, don’t you ever settle. Have fun, yes. There’s no way you can turn out to be a bigger whore than me, and as long as you’re safe and happy, go for it. But don’t you ever settle. Don’t let this heartbreak force you to settle because you don’t think it’s in the stars for you. I’ve been there. Don’t do it. Okay?”

Castiel smiled at his brother. “Okay, Gabriel. And… just so you know… I’m proud of you. For not settling either. Kali is a wonderful woman.”

Gabriel actually looked shy for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah. She is. Now, it’s a school night, but you don’t have to go tomorrow if you don’t want-“

“It’s okay, Gabriel. I promise, everything’s okay. It’s already past 11. I’ll go to bed.”

“I mean it, though. If you need to skip a day and-“

“I’m fine, Gabriel.” Castiel reached over and gave his brother a big, tight, long hug. “I love you, Gabriel. You are so good to me, always have been. And to Michael. You are a good man, and the best brother anyone could ask for. Thank you. Not just for tonight, but for everything.”

“Such a sap, Cassie,” Gabriel chuckled, albeit wearily. Castiel felt Gabriel’s head turn a little towards the kitchen. Castiel had been debating whether overdose or razor blade would be the best, but after tonight, he knew Gabriel would be watchful of his medication. He might have believed – made himself believe - the reason behind Castiel’s call to Dean. But he wasn’t a fool. Castiel knew that as soon as Gabriel got the chance, he was going to hide all of Castiel’s medicine.

Sweet, Gabriel. He’d prefer to sheepishly apologize in the morning than take a risk tonight.

“Sap or not, I mean it. I’m so glad you were here for me tonight.”

Gabriel squeezed tightly, then pulled away. “I’m always here, Castiel. Nothing will ever change that.”

Castiel was impressed with his own strength. He nodded, smiled, and was able to leave the room without looking back.


	17. I hope she likes me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When he heard Gabriel go to bed, he got ready in between texts. He went into the bathroom, relieved himself, washed his hands, and grabbed five towels. In his room, he pulled out two brand new, shiny razor blades, putting the rest in his desk drawer. He folded four of the towels: two in thick slender strips that his arms would rest on, and two a bit bigger to lay underneath the other two to catch any spillage. He propped himself up on comfortably on his pillows and arranged the towels perfectly on either side. There he laid, texting his friends, and waited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's only four chapters left, and I decided since they were all beta read and completed, just to post the rest of the story today. Why drag out dark things? 
> 
> Remember me saying way back in chapter one that people's mental health was more important to me than spoilers.
> 
> Here's the spoiler: Castiel tries to commit suicide in this chapter by slitting his arms. 
> 
> Here's the You Are Not Alone crisis support website again: http://www.randomacts.org/crisis-support-network/  
> Please, please, please - if this chapter triggers you in any way, even just slightly, reach out. Get help. 
> 
> TW:  
> justifications of suicide that are LIES  
> suicidal thoughts that are LIES  
> self-depreciating and depressive thoughts that are LIES  
> suicide attempt  
> depression symptoms

Despite himself, once he shut his bedroom door, Castiel paused and took in the room – trying to burn its image into his soul so he could carry it with him.

There were very few times Castiel was unbelievably touched and felt thoroughly loved.

The first was his oldest memory.

He was very young. He knew his mother wasn’t well. He couldn’t even remember what she looked like. There were no pictures available to him as he grew up, and any Internet search for a Faye Caitlin Byrd turned up countless people. And a part of him didn’t want to dig deeper. It would have hurt too much to actually know, to see her picture.

Yes, he was very young, and he knew she was ill, but he was so excited about something. So happy. And he needed to share it with his mother. He remembered climbing up her hospital bed, jumping on her with a squeal, and her cry of pain and coughing. So much coughing. He fell off her, onto the floor, and peered over the bed, crying, saying over and over, “S’wrry,  I s’wrry, I s’wrry, I s’wrry, I s’wrry. Mommy, I s’wry. Mommy. Mommy, b’weathe, Mommy. I s’wrry.”

Once she finally stopped, she picked him up, held him close to her chest, and said over and over, soothing his cries, “It’s okay, baby. I love you. You didn’t know. You did nothing wrong. I love you. I love you.”

He didn’t know if that was real. But he remembered feeling he was being given something he didn’t deserve.

The second was when he was six, and Michael came into his room and apologized to him. He had said he hoped Castiel was old enough to understand why he had treated him so badly for so many years, but regardless, he was “so, so, so, incredibly sorry.” He had cried that night. He told Castiel he loved him for the first time. He told Castiel that Castiel was his brother for the first time. He vowed to do right by him.

Castiel didn’t understand then. He broke up their family. He drove his mother – what could have been their mother – away. But Michael loved him. He wanted to do right by him. He thought that Castiel deserved better. He drank it up.

The third was when Gabriel, not long after, carried him for what seemed like forever because Castiel had tried to jump off a swing while it was high in the air, and landed square in the back on the wooden divider between the swing area and the grass. It _literally_ knocked the breath out of him. He couldn’t breathe. No matter how much he tried to suck in air, he couldn’t. Gabriel carried him all the way to the hospital. He was fine, though, after a few minutes he could breathe. Turned out he hit hard enough to make his lungs spasm. He was bruised - back, muscle, lung, and all, but fine. Gabriel still carried him home.

The forth was when Michael took him in. After all that time. Michael took one look at the Castiel’s living situation and gave Castiel a better one.

The last was when Gabriel did the same all those months ago.

So now he looked around his room. The expensive bed and mattress. The maps – most of which he put a pin in places he had wanted to go. The movie posters, all of which Gabriel demanded to watch with him, and Gabriel loved every one. All these things Gabriel went out of his way to make sure Castiel was comfortable and liked it here.

It hurt so much that he failed Gabriel. But it eased his guilt knowing that he kept it all in good condition and made sure it was all good and clean today. Gabriel could sell it all. Get good money from it.

Well, not the mattress. Maybe if he was allowed to use pills. He would do his best not to stain the mattress.

On the center of his desk sat a book, a book of poems. And marking his favorite poem – _Richard Cory_ by Edwin Arlington Richardson – was a letter to Michael and a letter to Gabriel. He wrote them earlier that day. They were both pretty long. He wanted to let them know how much he loved – will always love – them and explained how he hoped they understood. It was for the best. That he wanted them to have long, good lives. To follow their hearts. To remember him, but please… don’t mourn him.

He felt tears running down his cheeks. He swallowed thickly and shook his head.

_You’re doing so good._

_You can do this._

He blew a thick breath out of perched lips and moved forward.

He knew what he wanted to die in. Dean’s clothes from Halloween. They no longer smell like him because Castiel’s washed them too much. But they still are just… Dean. Soft. Comforting. Oh, so comforting. They were his favorite clothes. Regardless of what he’s buried in – he knew Michael would want a suit and Gabriel would want the clothes Castiel looked absolute best in whether it was a pair of jeans or not – he wanted to die in his absolute favorite.

He changed into them, making sure everything was neat and tidy, turned out his lights, plugged up his phone, and laid down on his bed. Once he heard Gabriel go to bed, he would open the book so that his letters where visible, get some towels, and pull out the razor blades he bought that afternoon.

He thought maybe pills would be easiest. It had been so long since he cut, he was apprehensive of the pain.

It was off the table, now, though. In a way, he thought razor blades were beautifully poetic. Dean had once called the scars on his stomach scars from this monster. He spent years coveting those claws. It was only fitting, really, that he would die by them.

And now that he really thought about it, it was better to die from those claws than by the pills that failed to save him.

He knew it would hurt some. But, as his trip to the ER showed, he could handle it.

As he made himself comfortable, his thoughts went back to Dean.

He loved all his friends. Hell, he even loved Crowley. Even Raphael. There wasn’t anyone he hated: not even Balthazar. Not even his father. Which, ultimately, he thought, was a good thing. It was good to die with no hatred in him.

But Dean…

He felt a little embarrassed and foolish at the thoughts he had before he texted Dean, sitting out there on the roof, enjoying the warmish breeze. He knew – he still knew – that if Dean showed any sign of loving him back, any sign of truly wanting to join forces and face life together, he would drop any thoughts of suicide and march through life with him.

It made him feel like such a pathetic, love-sick whatever. The answer to all his problems, to all the problems of the people he loved that he continued to cause, and he would throw it away for one man.

He had a moment of hope. That was what made him tear up.

But he always knew. He had planned on calling Dean tonight with that small amount of hope, but he still bought the new razor blades and still wrote his letters to his brother.

It was silly, and ridiculous, to hope like that. And it was silly, ridiculous, and pathetic to think that reciprocated love would be enough.

Dean loved him in his own way, that much was clear tonight. That was all he could ask for.

He just hoped – prayed – everyone loved him enough. Enough to let him go. He knew most people saw suicide as selfish. But what was really selfish was a happy, perfectly healthy, no-worries-in-the-world person to demand someone who was absolutely miserable, and was _doomed_ , _fated,_ and _created_ to be miserable and in pain and… everything he was, to live for the rest of his life.

Who would condemn someone to that life?

Who would, so they wouldn’t have to go through a few months of grief and pain, would make him spend _his entire life_ doing what they were avoiding, demand he do that so they wouldn’t have to go through those few months?

It was actually selfish to request that of someone who was better off dead. Happier dead. It was selfish to ask someone like him to live.

_“On and off antidepressants for the rest of your life.”_

It was _his_ life. He didn’t want to be on and off medicine to try to not be… him.

It was selfish for anyone to ask him to.

He was interrupted from his thoughts from the, maybe third, vibration from his phone against the wood of his shelf-headboard.

Gabriel hadn’t gone to bed, and if this was going to be his last night, he didn’t want to ignore the people he loved.

He unplugged and looked at his phone.

Three text messages.

First, Kevin texted asking an art question. He knew they went over that last week. He must be freaking about finals in a few weeks.

He texted back the answer and told him he had this. He was valedictorian already. His grades were amazing. He was going to get into any school he wanted and to stop worrying. Castiel believed in him.

Second, Charlie texted him, asking about that “one movie with dude chasing a turkey in a hotel room”. He knew what she was talking about, and answer, “Room Service by The Marx Brothers.”

The third was from Gadreel wanting to know the recipe to one of Gabriel’s cupcakes. He didn’t know ever ingredient, but he texted back what he knew. Told him he would need to ask Gabriel for the rest.

But none of his answers seemed to be enough. The three of them continued texting him, starting conversations. He tried to end it with them, but they came back with more questions and conversations. He would normally ignore them, but he couldn’t do that. Not tonight. Not on his last night.

So, he took the opportunity to compliment them and make sure they knew how special he thought they all were. They would go to bed soon. Maybe he could leave them with a smile on their faces.

When he heard Gabriel go to bed, he got ready in between texts. He went into the bathroom, relieved himself, washed his hands, and grabbed five towels. In his room, he pulled out two brand new, shiny razor blades, putting the rest in his desk drawer. He folded four of the towels: two in thick slender strips that his arms would rest on, and two a bit bigger to lay underneath the other two to catch any spillage. He propped himself up on comfortably on his pillows and arranged the towels perfectly on either side. There he laid, texting his friends, and waited.

When he noticed it was midnight, he smiled to himself.

 _I lived another day_.

For some reason he thought it was funny. He had to resist the urge to share it.

Finally, deciding that his friends needed rest, he told them all to go to bed. And he said goodbye. He turned off his phone and set it on the shelf above him. He didn’t want to read their goodnight texts or see their see-you-tomorrow statements. His chest was tight enough.

He felt a few more tears fall, but he didn’t stop them. Instead he spread the fifth towel across his chest to keep Dean’s clothes clean. He thought a lot about this, and instead of doing one arm then the next, he was going to do them together.

A blade in each hand, he hovered them above each elbow crease. Tears were rolling free down his face. He sniffed and tried to calm his breathing and heartbeat.

_You’re doing so good. You’ve got this. You can do this. Look how far you’ve come. Look how good you’re doing. It will sting and hurt a little, but you’re strong._

_You’re strong. You can do this._

Taking a deep breath, Castiel pressed the blades down, breaking the skin, making sure to go deep. Then he carefully dragged them down his forearms. Blood was immediately falling.

It stung. Oh, god, it hurt.

But he didn’t stop. He came this far; he wasn’t going to stop.

He finally got to his wrist, and with a sob, he dropped the blades, arms falling onto their carefully folded towel-beds.

His fingers were tingling.

His arms were burning.

His chest was tight.

_That’s it. You’re done. There’s nothing left for you to do. It’s over. You don’t have to do anything ever again. Just rest now. Now you get to rest. There’s nothing left to do. Just close your eyes and let yourself go._

_You did so good._

_I did so good._

_I did it._

He sniffed again, but that peace he had been feeling came over him again. He closed his eyes, letting his body relax against his bed.

It was over now. He was already feeling weaker. He couldn’t feel his fingers at all anymore.

He smiled. Soon he wasn’t going to be able to feel anything at all.

Excitement started fluttering in his chest. He would get to meet his mother. He’d miss everyone terribly, but he’d get to be with his mom. He’d finally know what she looked like.

Somewhere in the distance he heard banging and yelling. It sounded a little like Dean. Castiel had read up on the minutes entering death, and he knew he’d hallucinate something. God, he hoped he hallucinates Dean. Dean telling him he loved him, embracing him, escorting him into the afterlife. Castiel didn’t believe in God, but he had to believe in an afterlife. If he was wrong, and he ceased to exist… well, he wouldn’t know, would he? So, afterlife he’d believe in.

He could picture it. His own, specified, perfect Heaven.

He thought he could hear his name being called, but he could feel himself slipping. It almost felt like going to sleep. His arms weren’t hurting anymore. Nothing was hurting.

_See? No more pain._

He thought he heard banging again, but it seemed much further away. He felt his body move a little, like he was floating on a small wave. He could hear voices. They sounded scared. But the main voice he could hear was Dean’s.

Yes. He was getting what he wished for. Dean was his hallucination. His brain made him a Dean who loved him. Dean didn’t sound scared. He sounded confident, soothing, soft.

His Dean.

“I got you, Cas. It’s going to be alright. It’s all going to be alright. You’re going to be okay, I got you.”

_Dean._

“Yeah, Cas. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here.”

The blackness from behind his eyes were getting lighter. _Whiter_. Huh, there really was a bright light entering death. He felt welcoming and warm. How could something like that be bad?

_I’m going to meet my mother, Dean. Do you think she’ll be beautiful?_

“Yeah, Cas. I bet your mother is the most beautiful woman you’ll ever see.”

_Yeah… I hope she likes me._

And those were his last thoughts as the bright, warm light encompassed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cried some writing this.  
> My beta said she cried reading this.
> 
> Sometimes crying can be a good release. 
> 
> If you cried, though, from here on out, and it is not a good release, please, please, please reach out to someone. Anyone. Hell, comment here, I'll answer as quickly as I can. 
> 
> "Everything in this wicked world comes to pass - including the troubling times." - Charles Chaplin
> 
> http://www.randomacts.org/crisis-support-network/


	18. How did it come to this?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missouri turned to leave, then turned back, stern and fierce. “I never talked to you boys, you understand? It’s entirely unethical of me to talk about a damn patient.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know barely anything about medical things, so apologies if all the medical shit is wrong or too dramatic or something.
> 
> http://www.randomacts.org/crisis-support-network/  
> Please reach out if you feel this is harming your own mental health. Please.
> 
> TW:  
> mentions of a suicide attempt  
> mentions of depression  
> mentions of depressive symptoms  
> unnecessary guilt  
> others blaming themselves for suicide attempt  
> being scared for a loved one's life

Dean sat in the ER’s waiting room, elbows on his knees, blood stained fingers interlaced together. He was shaking his leg, clenching his jaw, staring unwavering at a spot on the floor. He was covered in blood.

There was so much blood.

Sam, Charlie, and Benny were all off with nurses donating their B-positive blood. Sam was covered in blood too. He took one arm and Dean took the other, pressing the towels down, trying to stop as much bleeding as they could.

He was already so fucking pale.

Bobby sat next to him, a silent but strong figure. He drew comfort from it.

Jody hadn’t believed Cas for one minute and had a parked herself outside the building. She had officially declared Cas a suicide risk and had an ambulance ready to go if the call came. Sam had run home, grabbed them shoes and grabbed Bobby. By time they came back, Ms. Tran, Kevin, Charlie, and Gadreel were all outside. As soon as they saw Cas’ bedroom light go out, Kevin, Charlie and Gadreel kept Castiel busy texting.

There was a moment around midnight when he began to doubt himself. Maybe Cas wasn’t going to do it.

But all the things he was saying to their friends, making sure they knew how special they were… It had them all freaked out.

Then Castiel abruptly ended the conversations. He didn’t text back. They called, it went straight to voicemail. They knocked and banged on the door, but it took Gabe _forever_ to answer it. He had called out Cas’ name, praying for Cas to answer.

They all ran inside, banged on Cas’ door. When he didn’t answer, they rushed in…

Dean was pretty sure the image of Cas ghost pale and going cold, lying there, red pouring out of his arms, would haunt him the rest of his life.

The ambulance was there in three minutes. Cas wasn’t breathing. The EMTs booted them away and began work. Bobby had to drag Sam and Dean out.

They arrive at the hospital at the same time as the ambulance. When they pulled Cas out, there was a tube down his throat, and one of the EMTs were squeezing one of those breathing-balloon-things.

Cas was breathing.

But as Dean sat uselessly in the waiting room, he wondered if that was enough. He needed blood. They were such a small town; did they have the blood he needed readily available?

Everyone not giving blood was in the waiting room. Even Crowley. Ms. Tran had her arm around a scared looking Kevin. Garth was pacing back and forth, trying to say encouraging things. Gadreel had his head in his hands. Crowley had his hands in his pockets, looking annoyed.

Dean dropped his head, chin to his chest. He stared at the blood on his jeans. It looked like Cas had gone out of his way not to make a mess. He even protected his clothes – the clothes Dean gave him.

Why did Dean have to be so stupid? He went weeks ignoring Cas. Being pissed at him. And for what? Cas freaked out, Dean knew that. Dean had freak out’s all the time. Why did he take it so personally? Cas fucking _loved_ Dean, he _counted_ on Dean, he _trusted_ Dean, Dean was supposed to be there for him. He was supposed to help him. He had promised to be there for him and to help him, and the moment things got hard, Dean left. And now Cas… He could have helped him.

Only then did Dean realize out of everything that night, he hadn’t told Cas he loved him too.

God, he loved that difficult, stubborn, _stupid_ boy. Couldn’t Cas see that? Didn’t Cas know that? Did Cas know that?

Sure, Dean didn’t want a relationship. He was still skittish. He had his own issues in that area. But didn’t Cas and he basically have a relationship? Had. They had sex regularly and often, they were best friends, went out and did things together, confided things to each other. The only thing missing was just the promise to be faithful and slapping on a label.

They were good together. If Cas needed more, he’d give him more.

“God, Cas…” he whispered, sending Cas a quiet prayer. “You better pull through this, you son of a bitch.”

Gabe burst through the double doors. He was scary white, faced pinched furiously. “I can’t believe they kicked me out. _Me?_ I’m his _guardian_. If anyone deserves to be in there, it’s _me_.”

“Sit down, son,” Bobby said. “They need space to work on him. You’ll see him soon.”

Gabe crossed his arms, ready to fight Bobby, when his Gabe’s phone rang. When he looked at it, he looked crushed. “Michael…” He looked helplessly around the room. “I tried him several times, left a voicemail… How am I supposed to say…”

Glad to see something he could do, Dean jumped up. “Here, Gabe,” he said, holding out his hand. “Let me.”

Gabe nodded and handed Dean his phone. Dean answered as soon as he stepped outside. It was windy; another storm was coming.

“Hey, Michael.”

“Who is this?”

“Uh, Dean. Dean Winchester. We met over Christmas.”

“What’s going on Dean? Gabe called me like twenty times. I had left my phone in my room, I-I fell asleep in my office, I-“

“It’s Cas, Michael. He…” Dean took a deep breath, steadying himself. He needed to just say it. “He tried to kill himself. We’re at the hospital now. H-he… There’s no update yet. They’re still working on him. But he was breathing when we got here, so… I think he’s going to be okay?”

Michael was silent for a long time. Dean let him process. It couldn’t have been easy to hear. It definitely wasn’t easy to say.

After a while, Michael said, “Where’s Gabe? Why are you answering?”

“He’s here. He’s shaken up. I… I didn’t want him to have to say it.”

“Thank you, Dean. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Let me give you my number so you can text me updates and call me when needed.”

“Okay, yeah. That sounds good.”

A few minutes later, he walked back into the waiting room. Jody was there now and somehow had managed to get Gabe to sit down while she took his statement. He handed the phone back to him and sat on his other side.

“…- seemed to be doing so much better,” Gabe was telling her. “He seemed calm, happy, and content. Which should have been a sign, maybe? With Dean-o here rejecting him, and he _still_ seemed that way. But he cried a little tonight, and I thought… I thought he was just holding it in or something. But then he gave me a big hug, told me I was the best brother a guy could ask for, said I was a good man, thanked me for being there for him, and well, everything. I just thought… I guess I hoped he was being a sap. When he went into his room, though, I hid all his medication. I just had a feeling, y’know? But he hadn’t cut in _months_. It didn’t occur to me he’d do it that way. Damnit,” Gabe slapped his forehead. “I’m such an idiot. There are thousand ways to commit suicide. I should have had them all covered.”

“It’s not your fault,” Jody said. “If someone wants to die, they usually find a way to try.”

“You don’t think…” Dean started. He had been trying not to think this way all night. “You don’t think it was because of me, do you? Because he thought I didn’t feel…”

Gabe and Jody both shook their heads.

“I think he was planning it for a while,” Gabe confessed, looking defeated. “I read all about the warning signs, I just… I didn’t want to believe it.”

“And,” Jody added, “even if you did return his feelings, that might have only stopped him for a while. Depressives who have their eyes on suicide usually don’t just walk away from the idea. It’d come back to them eventually.”

Dean nodded. “I do return his feelings though. I was just so scared, I didn’t even stop to say…”

Gabe threw his arm around Dean’s shoulder and shook him a little. “Then you’ll just tell him when he wakes up. Okay?”

Dean nodded. He knew Jody needed to get the rest of Gabe's statement, so he said, “Michael is on his way. I got his number, so I can update him, okay?”

Gabe sighed. “Yeah, thanks. That sounds good.”

Dean clapped him on the shoulder and stood. He walked back to where Bobby was sitting. Ellen had arrived, sans Jo. Jo had been away at a boarding school all year. God, what if she never got to meet Cas?

Dean shook his head again. He needed to stop thinking like that.

Ellen wrapped him in a hug. She had stopped by their house and brought him and Sam some more clothes. Dean took his and went searching for a bathroom.

Once inside, he made to wash his hands. While the water warmed up, he just stared them. He almost didn’t want to wash the blood off. It was a piece of Cas, stains of Cas’ life. He didn’t want to just wash it down the drain.

But he really didn’t have any other choice. Other than finding a magic way of putting it back in Cas’ body, that is.

Once cleaned up and change, he carefully folded his blood-stained clothes and put them in his grocery sack Ellen had put the clean clothes in. He knew he should probably just throw them away. He doubted he could get all the blood out. But… again, he felt like he shouldn’t toss aside a part of Cas’ life force.  Not when he was so close to death already.

So, he held on to them as he made his way back to the waiting room. By time he got there, Sam, Charlie, and Benny were back, all eating cookies and drinking apple juice. They all looked sick. Well, everyone did. Because they were all _worried sick_.

About a half an hour passed, no one really talking except for comforting each other, when the doctor came in.

“Family of Castiel Novak?”

Everyone jumped up. “That’s us,” Gabe said.

“Hi, I remember you. I’m Dr. Wilson. I took care of your brother that night a few months back.”

“Okay. Well, as you can see, he got worse.”

She smiled in understanding at him. “He’s going to be just fine.”

Collectively, the whole room let out a breath of relief.

Dr. Wilson continued, “He has been sutured, and altogether he has 126 stitches. Some of the are dissolvable inside the lacerations. They will dissolve safely over the next couple of weeks. The sutures on the outside keeping the lacerations sealed will have to remain for three to four weeks. Your brother definitely knew what he was doing, he cut deep enough to kill himself very quickly…”

Dean winced. Cas really had been planning this.

“He lost a very significant amount of blood, and was without oxygen for about two minutes, so there’s little risk for brain damage. Still, when he wakes up, we’ll run some mental acuity tests.

“His heart stopped for almost one minute. The EMTs were able to get it beating again with CPR and administrating a bag of blood. They had already prepped the ambulance with B-positive blood when the suicide warning came in, just in case, along with other supplies needed in most suicide attempts.”

“Thank god for that,” Ellen whispered.

“Castiel’s primary doctor and therapist have been notified. I would like to keep him here for a few days to monitor him, and that will also give you time to decide your next steps.”

Gabe nodded.

Next steps. What would happen if they send him to the crazy house?

“He’s asleep right now, and he probably won’t wake for several hours. We’re still administrating blood, but you are welcomed to see him. Please, no more than one person in the room, and _only_ family members.”

They all nodded and thanked the doctor, and she left. Sam turned to him and said, “That’s the doctor that stitched him up when he cut his stomach that night.”

“Well, at least she knows his history the-“ he was cut off be tackled into a hug. Gabe squeezed him tightly.

“You saved him. Thank you, thank you. If you hadn’t raised the alert, I-…”

Dean tried patting Gabe, but his arms were held down in this bear hug.

“Let the boy breathe, son,” Bobby chuckled.

When Gabe pulled back, his eyes were red, but a big smile was on his face. “Can you call Michael? I want to see Cassie.”

Dean agreed, and after a few more hugs from Ms. Tran, Charlie, and Ellen, he stepped out and pressed the call button for Michael.

“Dean?” Michael answered almost immediately. Dean could hear the tell-tale signs of Manhattan on the other line. “I’m on my way to the airport. I’ll be there in around three hours.”

“Great. Uh, the doc just gave us an update. Cas is gonna be fine. He has 126 stitches, but he’ll be fine. He’s still asleep. Probably won’t wake for a while, so you got plenty of time.”

“Okay… okay.” Michael breathed. He was starting to sound a bit calmer as he went on. “Stitches, huh? I figured that’s how…”

“Yeah. But he’s fine, Mike. He’ll pull through.”

“Right. Okay. Right. Thank you, Dean. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

“See ya.”

Dean hung up but didn’t go back inside.

The wind was picking up now. It was dark, cloudy skies covering the moon and any stars. It was sprinkling, so the parking lot was damp and wet, reflecting the lights of the hospital and parking lamps. Somewhere in the distance he could hear a car swoosh down a wet street. The wind was tickling the near-by trees, and Dean could hear the clanging of the ER’s sign hitting up against metal.

Cas was alive.

_Cas was alive._

For the almost two years Dean had been there, he hadn’t had to worry about whether or not someone was alive. Sure, he wondered sometimes if his dad was still alive, but that was low priority where he was concerned.

Cas was alive, and the crushing weight of waiting for the official announcement was lifting off his shoulders.

He was going to fine. He’d need a hell of a lot of therapy, but Cas was going to be okay.

Dean wasn’t going to leave this time. No matter how much they fought. Just because it seemed like Cas was better and doing good – even really good, that didn’t mean Cas was healed. That didn’t mean Cas was okay. And that didn’t mean Dean could go around throwing a hissy-fit because he wasn’t getting his way.

If Cas’ disorder didn’t feel serious before, it was most definitely deadly serious now.

The monster almost killed him.

Dean leaned his back against the cold, wet brick of the hospital. He felt one tear escape, running quickly down his cheek and taking with it all the thoughts of Cas not pulling through.

“It’s a scary thing, isn’t it?” said a voice.

Dean snapped his head around to see a plumped woman smiling at him. She was short, her dark skin almost hiding her if it wasn’t for the lights. She wore a thick coat and had a purse slung over her shoulder. The air around her was authoritative, but she had a kind face.

“I wondered about Castiel after our last session. He seemed way to calm for my liking. I was hoping him deciding to fix things between you two would straighten him out.”

“You’re Missouri?” Dean asked.

She nodded and crossed her hands together. “It’s never easy to try to understand the mind of a depressive. You got to understand, Cas doesn’t see the world the way you or I do. Nor is he scared of death at all.”

“Yeah,” Dean sniffed. “He probably romanticizes it.”

“Nuh huh, no, he doesn’t. Castiel is very realistic when he’s not being pessimistic. He doesn’t crave death, Dean. He’s just simply tired of living.”

Dean thought for a moment. “Yeah, you’re right. It ain’t easy to understand.” Then after another moment. “Wait, how did you know it was me?”

“Because who else would need some air and moment’s peace after getting some good news,” she chuckled.

“What do you mean?”

She smiled at him and put a hand on his shoulder. “You’re happy, Dean. There’s no expiration date on it, and you don’t have to feel guilty for being happy just because our Castiel isn’t. Take my advice… Let yourself be happy, and stop treating it like it’s going to fly away.”

Dean smiled. “Thanks, Missouri. Did you come here to see him?”

She patted once on his shoulder before letting go. “Yes, and his doctor.” She shook her head. “He’s going to have to spend some time at Rolling Hills, and they best better not undo all my hard work. And if they try to get him to keep a diary, so help me… That boy already thinkin’ ugly, he don’t need to be need to be puttin’ those words to life…”

She began ranting to herself as she went inside, Dean chuckling after her. He liked her.

…

Charlie was the most shaken out of their group of friends. Turned out she knew about Cas’ cutting since Halloween, and recently Cas told her everything. She knew when she and Cas fought that there was something serious going on, but she thought since he came back later and apologized and told her everything, that meant he was basically okay. She was blaming herself.

Almost everyone was blaming themselves to some extent.

Kevin blamed himself for not reaching out more, and for not sending Cas kind words in their text messages, reminding Cas that life was worth living.

Benny blamed himself for not being more of a friend to Cas. For always treating him suspiciously. For calling him out instead of trying to find out why Cas was always difficult.

Garth blamed himself for not being there for Cas like Cas was for him. Cas taught him several defensive moves, taught him how to stand his own ground and how to use his enemies’ words against them. That Cas even “jumped into the line of fire” for him. He said he could have been teaching Cas how to think positively. Garth looked so small.

Gadreel said he figured Cas was a depressive. When he was little, Gadreel was tricked by a few kids to play a trick on a couple of others kids, which resulted putting one kid in the hospital. The kid didn’t make it. Gadreel spent years in therapy himself, and he knew the signs from Cas. But Cas was always so private, he didn’t want to pry. “He was getting better. We all saw him. He was better.” He felt like he could have shared his experience with Cas, and that maybe he could have helped him.

Crowley didn’t blame himself. In fact, he was already at the hospital when they got there. He did, however, admit that he shouldn’t have let him drink and drive, and he should have spoken up about it being a warning sign.

Sam thought they could have done more. Dean definitely could have. But Sam was always so patient, always ready to be there, always had Cas’ back. Dean knew Sam did literally everything he could.

If it was anyone’s fault, it was Dean’s. He was the one who continued to say he was there, say Cas was going to get better, say that everything was going to work out. Then he acts like a toddler.

But no one was blaming themselves more than Gabe. It was written all over his face. He had come back into to waiting room, sat quietly for a while, then started shaking his head, and then run back to see Cas again.

It was about 4am when most everyone else had gone home. Not a one of them were going to school later. Unless the truth got out some way, he was sure there would be rumors flying about what those sneaky, rebellious, liberals were doing. But the truth would come out eventually. It was probably a good thing that strangers’ opinions were the absolute last thing Cas cared about. Or, well, at least the other student’s opinions.

Bobby had left around sunrise with the promise to be by later with some food. But Dean wasn’t all that hungry. By the look of it, neither was Sam.

At one point when Sam and Dean were alone in the waiting room, Sam turned to Dean.

“You know this isn’t your fault, right?” he asked.

“As long as you know it isn’t yours either,” Dean mumbled, playing with a thread on his torn jeans.

Sam slumped back in his sit next to Dean’s, running a hand through his hair. He looked almost as tired as Cas did when he… was tired-tired. “I blame myself a little,” Sam admitted. “Out of all the research I did on his disorder, I never really looked into warning signs of suicide. I just… never wanted to believe it would ever get that far.”

Dean nodded. “Me too,” he said. “I never even tried to think about it. Warning signs, that is. I just thought… it would be obvious, y’know?”

“It was, though,” Sam reminded him. “When you came down screaming…” Sam sighed. Dean was looking at him, but Sam was staring far off. “You knew immediately. I mean, even to me, what you said to the cops about what Cas told you, even to me that sounded like a break-up. But I knew you knew the difference. So did Jody, I think.”

“Yeah, but you weren’t fooled by him like I was. Everything he said on the deck… He said he was okay. He said everything was going to be okay. I thought…”

“Yeah.”

They both collectively sighed.

“But we helped him,” Sam said. “We didn’t give up.”

“I guess.”

Michael arrived around 5am, pale and exhausted looking with a giant roller-suitcase. He shook both Sam’s and Dean’s hands, asked if there were any updates, and waited with them until Gabe came back out. Gabe and he hugged each other and talked in hushed tones for a while, then Michael went back to see Cas. Meanwhile, Gabe met in the corner with Missouri and another woman in regular day-time clothes. That woman left soon, leaving Gabe and Missouri talking for a while, then returned in scrubs and a white coat. They were soon joined by Dr. Wilson.

A thought struck Dean. He scooted up in his seat, elbows on his knees, and watched them. He wanted to get Missouri alone.

Soon Michael returned, then Gabe went back through the double doors to see Cas, presumably, and both doctors left. Missouri was leaving. Dean caught her at the exit doors.

“Hey, wait, Missouri!”

“Yeah, sugar?” she asked, turning to smile at him.

“I… I don’t get it,” he said. His resolved shoulders slumped under her gaze, feeling like a small child. “All these months, eight I think, with him on medication and seeing you… What happened? How did it come to this?”

He felt Sam come up behind him while he spoke, and Missouri smiled softly at both of them. “You know… if he was a junior instead of a senior, I don’t think this would have happened.”

“What you mean?” Sam asked.

“There was all this pressure… He was only in recovery, moved across the country, made friends, fell in love, had people – a life, a whole new life that he spent so long getting used to. Then everyone he grew close to was talking about leaving. Teachers were pressuring him about college. He was pressuring himself about college. He had _just_ settled down, and then he was expected to change everything. Or, at the very least, make a decision that could change his life all over again. His disorder chose that for him, though. For now.”

She sighed and shook her head.

“You both need to understand. With depressives, in these kind of situations, no matter _what_ has happened, what’s going on in their lives, what words were said or weren’t said… Nothing _caused_ this. Nothing was the absolute deciding factor. At the _most_ , it’s just the little, tiny, weighing-nothing straw that broke the camel’s back.”

Missouri turned to leave, then turned back, stern and fierce. “I never talked to you boys, you understand? It’s entirely unethical of me to talk about a damn patient.”

And with that she left.

Sam and Dean looked at each other.

“I… I didn’t even think about that,” Sam said. “She’s right. He had just up-rooted his life, thrown into this one, told he that he had a life-long disorder that literally made him depressed, was getting better, _felt_ better…. And then…”

“And then told he had a life-altering decision to make. No wonder he let the monster decide.”

Sam nodded. They returned to their seats across from Michael. They talked for a while, Michael asking about school and their lives, them asking about Manhattan and his promotion. Soon Gabe came back, and the four of them chatted as lightly as they could.

At almost 7, Donna came by. She explained it was all an open-and-shut case. One by one, Jody had had gotten all their statements, quickly and efficiently. There was absolute no mistaking this as an attempted suicide.

And because the case was solved, they could release the evidence. Including what none of them saw in the panic of trying to save Cas.

Two suicide notes. One to Gabe, one to Michael.

Donna looked so sad, but her voice was encouraging and said encouraging things:

“But he survived, didn’t he? That’s always good, isn’t it?”

“He’s a strong one, ya’know.”

“Everything will be fine. He’s safe, you’re safe, everyone’s safe. Remember that, yeah?”

But when she left, and Michael and Gabriel looked at the letters in their hands, their expressions were nothing short of haunted. Sam nudged him and made them leave so Gabe and Michael could have some privacy. Dean was burning to know what was in those letters, and he was also a little jealous. Sure, he got a verbal thing, but if Cas would have actually died, being able to hold his last words in his hands… Well, actually that would have sucked. That would have been the absolute worst. But he hoped that over time, it might have comforted him.

It would probably haunt him, though.

Like those letters would forever haunt Gabe and Michael.

Dean wondered if they’d keep them. He doubted they’d throw away their little brother’s words. Words crafted especially for them. If it was Sam instead of Cas, he would keep the letter. He would read it when Sam got bad, when things got difficult, when he felt like helping Sam and taking care of Sam was too much, too hard. When he wanted to give up. He’d keep that suicide note to remind him why he was doing it.

_“… you mean so much to me, Dean.”_

_“More to me than anyone ever could have.”_

_“I don’t think I would’ve ever met anyone else who could me feel so safe, happy… special.”_

_“Please remember how much you meant to me. How much I cared about you.”_

_“I love you, Dean.”_

“Dean?”

Sam and Dean were on the way to the cafeteria, and Dean had stopped at the memories, gripping the wall.

“Sam… He… Sam, he almost…” Dean fell to the floor, curling up to himself, trying his absolute best not to cry or anything.

He felt a strong arm around his shoulders. “He’s alive, Dean. He’s going to make it.”

“I know,” Dean breathed. He took a steadying breath, then let his head fall against the wall. “But he didn’t think he would live. He didn’t _want_ to. When he called me, those were what he wanted his last words to me to be, Sam.”

Sam was sitting beside him. Nurses and others were walking past them with no mind. Sam kept an arm around him, letting him compose himself. After a while, Sam asked, “What did he say?”

Dean cleared his throat. “He just… he wanted me to know that he cared-… cares more about me than he did anyone else. That… well, that he loved me. He said I meant more to him than… That I meant a lot to him.”

Sam squeezed his shoulder but didn’t say anything. They sat there for a while, then slowly and silently got up, got some coffee, then returned to the waiting room.

Both of Castiel’s brothers were gone.

Around 9, they returned. Dean didn’t know who convinced whom to leave and get breakfast, but their brother-time seemed to do them good. They both had more color in their faces, more skip in their step, no letters to be seen.

Bobby and Ellen returned soon after that. They brought food, as Bobby promised. Dean and Sam ate, not knowing how hungry they actually were until they smelled the food. Dean wondered when Cas would eat again… when he last ate… His eating was so strange. He’d eat all at once – and a _lot_ , more than Dean – then sometimes, probably most of the time, he just wasn’t hungry.

While they ate, Gabe, Michael, Bobby, and Ellen talked quietly on the other side of the waiting room. There was no one else there, so Dean heard a little.

“… not awake yet…”

“… much more color in his skin than just an hour…”

“… she said it was almost surgical cuts…”

“… almost half of the sutures under his skin…”

“… nerve damage…”

“… few months at Rolling Hills…”

Bobby and Ellen left shortly after with the promise of returning with lunch after trying – and failing – to get them to come home and sleep. Ellen promised that if they were still determined to be there after dinner, she’d bring pajamas. Dean’s affection for them both rose with that, glad they were so understanding as to why he needed to stay.

Around noon, someone from the school board came by to talk to Gabe about the rest of the school year. None of teachers were worried about Castiel’s ability to take a written exam at any time and pass it, and they were willing to send all tests and exams with an administrator for him to take at any time Cas was ready. His art and woodshop teachers were able to go ahead and average his grade, and even without doing any more projects (and what Dean and Sam knew without doing _most_ projects all year), Cas would still pass all his classes.

He wouldn’t make it to graduation, but he would graduate.

Unfortunately, this was also when Michael found out Cas had been lying to him for a while about colleges. For some reason the information seemed to disappoint Michael, and Dean had to stop himself from snapping at Michael. Cas had been through enough – he didn’t need someone immediately disappointed in his lack of college-ness.

Ellen came by some time later with Ash and lunch. Soon, the others started showing up, and knowing Cas was practically out of danger, after so many hours in the waiting room, Dean’s adrenaline was starting to wear off. Sam was beginning to nod off in his chair. The others were talking amicably, the stress from the night before having leaked from the room.

Around 3pm, they were moved to a different waiting room, Cas officially out of danger. He no longer needed blood, just rest and observation. No one other than family could see him yet, but at least it could three or fewer people.

The psych waiting room they were in now had comfortable couches and armchairs, and Sam fell asleep almost immediately. The only thing that kept Dean’s eyes open was the possibility that Cas could wake up at any time.

The only thing that kept Dean going at all was thinking about all the things he wanted to say to Cas, how their first conversation after all this was going to go, and how Dean could have possibly been so stupid as to let Cas almost die thinking Dean didn’t…

Dean couldn’t fucking believe that it took Cas almost dying for both of them to actually face their feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes crying can be a good release. 
> 
> If you cried, though, from here on out, and it is not a good release, please, please, please reach out to someone. Anyone. Hell, comment here, I'll answer as quickly as I can. 
> 
> "Everything in this wicked world comes to pass - including the troubling times." - Charles Chaplin  
> http://www.randomacts.org/crisis-support-network/


	19. I told you so

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel’s lip was trembling, and he was breathing harder, trying to keep himself together. Trying so hard not to give in to Dean’s words. But he lost all composure when Dean pulled him into a tight hug and whispered in his ear:
> 
> “I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW:  
> suicidal thoughts that are LIES  
> justification of suicide that are LIES  
> depression symptoms  
> depressive thoughts  
> self harm  
> technically, another suicide attempt, but really he's just continuing the original - trying to take out stitches
> 
> http://www.randomacts.org/crisis-support-network/

_It was beautiful, and very haunting._

_A big, huge forest, with trees higher than he could believe, and leaves plush and so green._

_But there was snow. Everywhere. Thick, white snow. So white and shiny it was almost blinding._

_It wasn’t cold, but it was quiet. Very, very quiet._

_Cas could hear his own breathing._

_The trees weren’t winter trees. There wasn’t an evergreen in sight. These were all summer trees; trees like from back home. Thick oaks, and others he never bothered to learn about._

_They were_ alive.

_But the snow was suffocating._

_He needed to get out of here. There was so much potential life being weighed down by bright, bright snow._

_The casting of the green from the sunlight was beautiful and unsettling._

_He began running. The snow was thick; he kept stumbling, but he kept running._

_He wanted the green. Not the snow._

The first thing Castiel noticed was his breathing.

Even.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

It didn’t hurt.

It felt nice.

Soothing.

But then he felt pain. His head was pounding, his arms hurt – stung. He had a twitch in his left thumb, causing a shooting pain up his arm. He couldn’t feel his right fingers.

He heard a steady beeping speeding up as his groggy mind began to catch up. The last he remembered was…

His eyes shot open, quickly adjusting to a tiled ceiling, the beeping sound speeding up more.

_Please tell me I’m dead._

“Hey, honey,” said a female voice beside him. He looked over to see a short nurse smiling at him. “You’re finally awake.”

“Am-hhuu,” he swallowed and coughed. “Am I’m alive?”

She beamed at him. “Yes, you are. It was a very close call, but you made it, dear.”

“No…”

She frowned at him, and he felt his eyes watering.

“No, no, no, no, no, no…”

He tried sitting up, but her hands pushed him back down. No. She couldn’t stop him. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t what he wanted. He began thrashing, ripping needles out of his arms, trying to get up, trying to run. He needed to fix this – he needed to die _right now_. Before anything else happened. He needed to get back on track, not go backwards.

His vision was blurred, almost like he was underwater, and he vaguely recognized them as tears. He heard yelling, he heard people, he felt other hands on him, and before he knew it, he was screaming.

 _“_ NO. NO. NO. _I WAS DEAD. I’M SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD. **WHY AM I STILL ALIVE?** ”_

He was held down, being poked by something, and soon enough he was engulfed in darkness.

…

When Castiel woke up again, it felt like a mere second from the last time, but he felt so lethargic.

He tried to move one of his arms as he groaned, but with a clinking, his arm stopped. He tried again, and it happened again. Slowly he forced his eyes opened to look down. A padded handcuff was on each wrist. All needles and IVs were back in him. Seemed like they boosted the pain killers though, because his head and arms were okay. Though his thumb was still twitching and his still couldn’t feel his right hand’s fingers.

But still, _handcuffed?_

He started tugging at them, as viciously as he could in his utter-groggy state. Very groggy. What the hell did they give him?

“Whoa, whoa,” said a gentle, familiar voice. “Last time you woke up, you tore, like, half your stitches. Cool it, man.”

He knew that voice. It took him a few moments to have that beautiful face focus in his vision, a warm hand holding his down.

“Dean?”

The crooked smile he regretted not seeing the last he saw him was there now, floating over him.

“Hey, Cas.”

“What?”

“I said, ‘Hey, Cas’.”

“No… w-what?”

Dean’s smile turned smaller and more genuine. Cas felt a weight beside him, gentle thumbs stroking his palms. Cas was laying all the way back, and the angle to try to look at him was awkward. He tried to sit up, but immediately his vision grew fuzzy.

“Up,” he whispered. “Not down. I need up,” he said as he tried to sit up again.

“Whoa, wait, I got it.”

Cas closed his eyes to steady himself as he heard a small motor and felt the upper half of the bed elevate, allowing him to sit up more. Dean got him comfortably sitting half-way up before he stopped the motor. Cas fleetingly wished he had a bed like this at home so he could just push a button instead of propping up pillows. But the idea of a living-wish was tearing something inside him, so he pushed it down.

He was supposed to be dead.

_Why am I still alive?_

He swallowed hard and opened his eyes again.

Dean and he looked at each for a long while before Dean’s hand moved to his cheek, swiping away a tear Castiel didn’t know he had shed.

“Dean?” he asked quietly. “Dean…” he swallowed again, then, so softly he barely heard himself, “Why am I still alive?”

Dean leaned over and gave him a soft kiss, making Cas’ eye flutter for the moment Dean’s lips were on his. “Because of me, Cas... I’m sorry. We… We heard you in the waiting room. Uh… Well, there were so many people waiting on news about you and waiting to see you, they moved you to a room closer… It doesn’t matter…” Dean closed his eyes and cleared his throat. He was speaking quietly, too, and belatedly Cas realized how dark it was. What time was it?

Dean continued, “Cas… I really hope you don’t hate me. I… I was the one who blew the whistle. I’m why you’re still alive…”

He was searching Castiel, either asking for forgiveness or looking for something else.

Castiel felt overwhelmed. His throat was burning, as well as his eyes, and he didn’t know why he was trying so hard to hold it all back, but he was.

“W-what… what are you doing here?”

Now both of Dean’s hands were cupping his face. “Uh… after the last time you woke up, your brothers thought it might be better that someone you knew was here when you woke up again. They were here for a while. I took over an hour ago.”

“What time is it?”

“About 2am.”

Castiel frowned. There was no way everything apparently happened between him dying just after midnight and 2am.

“What day is it?”

“Tuesday.”

Castiel closed his eyes again. He couldn’t understand. He _didn’t_ understand.

He opened his eyes again. The drugs in him were strong. He also couldn’t read Dean’s expression. Not that he was ever that great at doing that.

“Please,” he whispered. “Why am I still alive?”

Dean took a deep breath and looked away. After a few moments, he pushed Castiel over a little and gently laid down beside him, taking extra care of his arm by using his elbow to help prop his body weight over it. He stroked his hair, looking both sad and comforting.

“You fooled me for a little bit, but you didn’t fool Sam for a second. We knew. We called the others, made sure Jody stayed close. She called in a suicide warning to the hospital for you, and they had everything ready just in case. When you weren’t answering your phone, I… We, banged on the doors. I just… I just needed to see you alive before I gave up. But, you weren’t exactly alive. You were between, or whatever.”

“So you saved me?”

“Not just me. Cas, please, you have so many people in you-“

“I’m so confused, Dean.”

“I’m not,” Dean said confidently.

Castiel frowned at him again, waiting for him to continue.

“I’m not confused, Cas. I am absolutely certain you should – need - to be alive. I’m certain I can’t lose you like this. I’m certain that way too many people love you for you to feel like this is an option. I’m certain that you are so fucking talented, and you can go far in life. I’m certain that you will finally find the right medication and be everything and be fucking happy. And I don’t give a fuck if your disorder is a life-long whatever-the-fuck, I’m certain you will spend most of your life happy. We’re young, Cas. There’s so much… so, so much out there for us.”

Castiel buried his face in Dean’s neck. Metal from the unpadded end clanged against the bed as he tried to wrap his arm around him.

“T-that…” he didn’t know what he could say. Damn his brothers for knowing exactly how to pin him down by leaving Dean here. He took another deep breath and turned away from him as much as he could.

Something in him numbed.

“What are you doing here?” Cas asked, trying to create space between them and looking at the ceiling.

Soft, warm, gentle finger tips touched his chin and applied small pressure until Cas eventually looked at Dean. There were no tears in Dean’s eyes. His face was smooth and calm.

“You know you scared the shit out of me, right?”

Castiel didn’t say anything. If he was alive, he was sure he was going to get this from everyone… god, the letters he wrote…

“On the phone. The second you started speaking in past tens-“

“What?”

“I just want you to understand, Cas, I-“

Castiel made to get up, knocking past Dean and being stopped by the handcuffs. Handcuffs and the ache all around his body. Dean sat up, too, turning so that they’re sitting face to face beside each other on the bed.

“No, Dean. I want _you_ to understand. I want everyone to understand. Do you know what a _good_ day is for me, Dean?” he asked, slumping back down on the elevated bed.

Dean gulped and shook his head, looking as though he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know.

“A good morning for me – a great morning, is if I get up on time and actually have enough energy and desire to care enough about my appearance to put effort into it. If, that is, I had my shit together enough to have clean clothes waiting for me.”

He yanked angrily at the handcuffs again, breathing hard through his nose around the breathing tubes.

“A good day for me is if I actually enjoy talking to others and get at least some shit done. A good night for me is if I don’t make myself bleed and can actually get to sleep. Those are _good_ days.” He voice was weak and trembling. He could only imagine what his face looked like as he tried desperately to get Dean to understand. “Those are my good days. Do you even want to know my bad ones? I could get better, sure, but for how long? How long until I relapse? And the how long until I relapse again? And then again? How many _fucking_ times are you going to condemn me to that?”

He was trying to yell, but his voice was only so strong and his yanking at the handcuffs were feeble at best now.

Dean closed his eyes for a few moments, and for the first time, Dean looked really tired. Like, Castiel’s tired. A pang of guilt hit Castiel, but then he reminded himself he wouldn’t feel guilty if they had just let him die, and some of his panic and anger resurfaced.

When Dean sighed and opened his eyes again, the smile he was giving Castiel was actually a hopeful one. He reached over and started stringing his fingers through Castiel’s hair, looking at him adoringly.

“Do you remember New Years?”

“What?”

“New Years? How you kissed Charlie after you gave me a blowjob, and how hard we all laughed. Even Charlie, even though she was grossed out and mad.”

Castiel nodded, not sure why Dean was bringing that up now of all times.

“Remember how great it felt, laughing like that? How light and freeing it was?”

Oh, so that was what he was doing. Castiel huffed in frustration, looking away.

“And remember that time Garth convinced us all to go bowling, and Crowley refused to wear the ‘hideous’ shoes, and the first time he went up to bowl, he fell flat on his ass, and after like, the fourth time, he finally got himself some shoes and pouted all night. Remember how hard you laughed?”

Castiel swallowed around a lump forming in his throat but was refusing to look at Dean.

“And remember when I accidentally made Gadreel’s fear of flying worse, so we all went with him to the airport before he left to visit some family, and we waited with him by that gate? And there was the walking escalator thingy just outside the gate? And you were hyper and got on it, standing still making a face as you past us. And we all joined you, making faces and poses every time we passed by the gate, and everyone started noticing and laughing and taking pictures? I remember your smile that night, Cas. You were happy.”

“So?”

“And do you remember that time Garth was running to us down that little hill by the football field, and he was really excited to tell us something, and he tripped, and the way his hands flayed out trying to catch himself,” Dean chuckled, and Castiel couldn’t stop the pull of his lips too. That was the most hilarious trip he had ever seen, particularly with how awkward Garth was.

“See?” Dean continued, moving his hand from Castiel’s hair to the side of his neck. “You do remember. You remember how great you felt all those times, and how those moments of feeling great were getting stronger and more often? That was just in recovery, Cas. Recovered, it will feel like that 10 times better and will last a long-ass time. You’re going to relapse, maybe, that’s always a possibility. But how great life will feel while recovered makes surviving these relapses worth it.”

Castiel’s lip was trembling, and he was breathing harder, trying to keep himself together. Trying _so_ hard not to give in to Dean’s words. But he lost all composure when Dean pulled him into a tight hug and whispered in his ear:

“I love you.”

…

 “Got another one,” Gabriel cheered as he waddled into the hospital room with yet another basket of flowers. Castiel’s room was beginning to look like a flower shop, and all the balloons floating around made him feel like he was at a party. They didn’t start coming until the word got out that the reason why Castiel was in the hospital was because he tried to kill himself. Then the town flooded him with affection, and it served nothing but to piss Castiel off. It pissed him off more thinking that all these people who didn’t know him nor ever cared to would have feigned grief if he did die.

“This one is from a Midsomer,” Michael said, taking the basket and reading the card.

“Oh, she’s a bitch,” Castiel commented. “I’d say put that one closest to the trash.”

Michael chuckled and did as Castiel suggested. It was early Friday afternoon, and he knew all the others would be coming to visit as soon as school let out. Michael and Gabriel generally stayed with him during the day, and Sam and Dean stayed with him during the evenings, joined by others at random times. No one stayed with him at night anymore, but he was watched round-the-clock. When he felt lonely or his mind started going to bad places, he would usually sit up and talk with nurses. It seemed constantly talking to people helped push away bad thoughts.

He wasn’t handcuffed anymore, but there was a camera in his room now. Wednesday afternoon they had decided he was alright all alone, not an hour after they unbound him, he franticly tried to rip out his stitches when Gabriel went to get coffee.

Castiel was trying to find the will to live, but not even being given the option to make that decision for himself pissed him off more.

But because of his behavior and out-right admitting being saved did nothing to change his way of thinking had forced the hospital’s hand. Now he was stuck in here until the stitches were removed before being moved to Rolling Hills, the town’s residual crazy house.

Currently he was shirtless, only in grey sweats and the necklace Michael had gotten him over Christmas, sitting cross-legged in a big armchair in his room, looking out the window. Gabriel made himself comfortable on the hospital bed, and Michael settled down in the other armchair, returning to work remotely on his laptop.

“So, I heard Dean was planning on spending the night tonight,” Gabriel cooed.

Castiel shrugged. Dean had been doing everything he could think of to convince Castiel that he really did love him, and he wasn’t just saying that because of what Castiel tried to do. Tonight that included bringing over some of Castiel’s favorite movies, sneaking in a burger from the Roahouse, and staying over to hold him and all that other romantic affection he had been showering Castiel with. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it, but he wasn’t going to let himself believe in it.

“We might give whoever watches my camera a show,” Castiel smirked.

“Castiel,” Michael warned. “That’s entirely inappropriate.”

“What’s inappropriate?” Sam asked as he and all the others came waltzing into the room.

“Dean and I having sex despite that,” Castiel answered, pointing the camera above his door.

Dean went red, but all the others laughed. Castiel was beyond caring, currently. Caring if he made Dean embarrassed or anyone uncomfortable. Caring that he was shirtless and everyone could see his scars. Caring if he made a scene or not.

Dean had reminded him of laughter and humor, so that was all Castiel cared about. His one life-line, trying desperately to feel it again. He had been for days. Making all the jokes and inappropriate comments possible just to feel laughter again. Remind himself that surviving this was _worth_ it. To feel light, happy, and joyful. He almost reached it when Gabriel pranked one of the nurses, but as he didn’t see it happen, he failed.

Dean circled around, sitting on the arm of Castiel’s chair and throwing an arm around his shoulders. “I don’t give away free shows, so whoever is watching us will have to pay up.”

“That’s gross, Dean,” Sam said, scooting Gabriel off the bed to sit down.

“Look at all the balloons!” Kevin said, swiftly changing the subject. Everyone tried to squeeze on the bed or otherwise leaned against the walls and dressers. Michael began packing up his things, and Gabriel made his was over to the door. “It’s like you’re a celebrity or something.”

“Well, it’s not every day a gay, liberal teenager tries to commit suicide,” Castiel mumbled to where only Dean could hear him as he rolled his eyes. “I hate all these balloons. Feel free to take them.”

“Yeah,” said Charlie to Kevin, “we can get a Sharpie and cross out all the ‘Get Well’s and write ‘Congratulations’.”

“Congratulations?” Castiel asked, looking back towards Kevin who was leaning against the wall.

“Yeah,” Kevin smiled shyly. “I got into Yale.”

There.

There it was.

Something good, warm, and bubbly beating in his chest. He could feel his face light up and a smile trying to stretch across his face. “You’re kidding.”

Kevin shook his head, pride evident on his face.

“Kevin… that’s…” Castiel gave in and let a wide smile break loose. “I’m so proud of you.”

Kevin blushed slightly as Crowley said, “I think it’s a dumb decision to go there. You practically have panic attacks over Lawrence High educational load. Imagine how Yale will be.”

“That’s true,” Garth nodded. “You’ll have to work on that, Kev.”

“Yeah, I know…” Kevin said dejectedly.

That warm feeling started overflowing, pushing away the numbness and anger, and filling in the emptiness inside him. He felt a smirk on his face as he said, “Just promise me something.”

“Hm?” Kevin hummed.

“Just promise not to kill yourself over it.”

There was silence in the room for a moment, everyone frozen where they were, Michael even midway putting his briefcase’s strap over his shoulder. Then the room was bursting and alive with laughter, Gabriel doubled over, Sam throwing his head back, Kevin’s eyes wide as he tried not to laugh.

Even Castiel was laughing, finally feeling that feeling Dean had reminded him of.

He looked around the room, at all the people – his people.

 _Kevin was going to Yale_.

And suddenly Castiel was overwhelmingly grateful that he got to have this moment. He had almost missed it. He had almost let himself be absent when Kevin got this amazing news. Almost stolen away his chance to feel incredibly proud of his friend. And almost ruined the moment for his friend with his death hanging over Kevin’s head.

And there it was.

He was glad to be alive.

As everyone calmed down, Castiel reached over and grabbed Dean’s hand, placing a soft kiss on his knuckles like he did that awful night. Dean seemed to recognized the gesture, too, because panic immediately filled his expression. But Castiel just looked at him, eyes watery, smiling gently in hopes Dean knew what he meant.

Dean relaxed, leaned over and kissed his temple, whispering, “See? I told you so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to make this very clear.
> 
> VERY CLEAR
> 
> And I want everyone to read.
> 
> One small thing like that can, yes, shift someone's mindset. But it doesn't fix them. Absolutely not. Sometimes it can be just enough, though, to save someone's life.
> 
> Because of my mother who had been suicidal at different times in her life, I never tried killing myself. The reason is because of one thing she said: "I can't begin to count how many moments I've had since that I was so happy to be alive." Btw, she has the same disorder I and Cas have.
> 
> (Also, the scene thing Castiel woke up from - literally a reoccurring dream of mine. *sigh*)
> 
> It all starts with a seed. Something small, but just big enough to hold onto.
> 
> Please. Please, don't anyone assume just a small thing will fix a huge problem.
> 
> http://www.randomacts.org/crisis-support-network/


	20. There's always another exit; an epilogue.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh, god, here we go again,” Crowley groaned; Castiel could practically hear Crowley’s eye roll. “Some days I really do miss your depression.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chaps, y'all. 
> 
> If this ending feeling unsatisfying, as in a I need more help than this kind of way, please, reach out. I've been saying it a lot, I know, but I really, really mean it.
> 
> I meant what I said in the tags - doctors instead of psychiatrists - not a good idea. Regular docs can help some, they try, but psychiatrists GET it. 
> 
> I was told I would be "on and off antidepressants for the rest of your life". I told my psychiatrist that, and he fucking smirked. He said, "You might need a little nudge every now and then, but if you do the work, I see no reason why your entire life would be antidepressants."
> 
> God, it did me wonders.
> 
> I am so happy to share this story I wrote while in the midst of my relapse knowing I am so much better now. Moreover, I am humbled by each reader. Those hit numbers. I just... Wow. 
> 
> Please, please reach out to someone if you even think you might need help. Hell, you could think that, reach out, and realize you're okay. Just reach out.
> 
> I didn't have a Gabe. I kept it all in until this fic. Don't do that. Please.
> 
> TW  
> mentions of past depression and suicide attempt
> 
> http://www.randomacts.org/crisis-support-network/

**Little over a year later**

“There has to be a faster speed on those wipers, Dean.”

“I can see just fine, Sam.”

“Oh, god, we’re going to die. I just know it.”

“Shut up, Kevin.”

Castiel was smooshed between the two Winchesters in the front seat of the Impala. Kevin was having a mini-freak-out in the backseat, sitting between Charlie and Crowley. Rain was pouring heavily, and despite it being mid-afternoon, the sky was so dark it might as well as have been night. Even squinting, Castiel could barely make out the road, and the Impala’s wind shield wipers couldn’t keep up with the down-pour.

“This was such a bad idea,” said Charlie.

“Sorry,” Sam mumbled.

“It’s not your fault, Sam,” Castiel assured him. “We all wanted a road trip.”

“Yeah, but I’m the one who suggested we go visit Harvard.”

“It’s important,” Kevin said, though he didn’t sound so scared. “You’re still deciding between it and Stanford. Visiting will help you decide.”

“Yeah, Sammy,” Dean said, reaching across Castiel to pat Sam on the knee. “We just need to find a damn exit get off the highway.”

“Maybe we should wait it out?” Charlie suggested. “Other people are, look.”

Several cars were stopped on the side of the road, hazard lights blinking, waiting out the storm.

“Nah, I can see fine,” Dean waved her off.

“Of course. Which would explain why you’re going –“ Crowley’s head popped between Castiel’s and Dean’s to look at the dashboard, “ – 7 miles per hour in a 65 zone.”

“Stuff it, Crowley,” Dean barked as Crowley leaned back in his seat.

“We’re going die, I just know it,” Kevin’s shaky voice came floating up front.

“Stop saying that,” Charlie hissed.

“The rain will stop eventually, Dean,” Sam pleaded. “Let’s just pull over.”

“Nuh-uh, no way. Kevin’s about to get his nervous gas, and I ain’t being stuck in the car with that.”

“Oh, good lord,” Crowley whined. “I forgot Kevin did that.”

“I can’t help it!” Kevin defended himself.

A sudden loud and thick wave of water hit the side of the car, and the Impala swerved some as a semi-truck passed them.

“ _Son of a bitch,_ ” Dean cursed while Charlie and Kevin let out a cry, and everyone else jumped.

“He should _not_ be driving that thing!” Charlie shouted.

“Maybe he has better wipers,” Sam mumbled.

“I can see just fine!” Dean snapped.

Castiel couldn’t help it. He pressed his numbed-but-workable fingers of his right hand in a fist against his lips trying to hold in his laughter.

“After all this, you better go to Harvard,” Crowley complained.

“Yeah,” agreed Charlie. “We’re not going through all this just so you can turn it down.”

“Sam will go where he wants,” Dean said, eyebrows knitted in concentration.

“And that better be fucking Harvard,” Crowley snapped.

“I just want to get off the road…” Kevin whined, sounding like a small child.

“We all want that – Dean, just pull over,” Sam tried again.

“I told you, I can see just fine!”

And just like that, Castiel couldn’t hold it in any longer. He threw his head back, letting out a bark of uncontrollable laughter.

“ _This isn’t funny, Cas!”_ Kevin chastised. 

“Oh, god, here we go again,” Crowley groaned; Castiel could practically hear Crowley’s eye roll. “Some days I really do miss your depression.”

Castiel was recovered.

He ended up spending a little over two months going to Rolling Hills, but by time he was finished, suicide was the furthest thing from his mind. It still took a few more weeks of outpatient programs before Castiel could accept that he wasn’t going to relapse any time soon, and by time physical therapy for his right hand was over, Castiel felt free.

He reached over and grabbed his boyfriend’s hand, kissing his knuckles. (Boyfriend was a title and official label Dean and Castiel only recently accepted when they moved in together; they were everything boyfriends, as Castiel and everyone else knew, besides the title until Dean was ready.) Kissing his knuckles had become a habit between them anytime something happened that made Castiel feel glad and happy to be alive. He held Dean’s hand in his lap, both of them smiling briefly at each other. His left thumb, currently rubbing circles on the back of Dean’s hand, still twitched sometimes, but mostly it was subtle and didn’t interfere with anything.

Castiel was just glad that they finally made enough progress in his dominant hand where he could draw again. It was not nearly as good as before that horrible night, but with practice, he’d get back to where he was. He’d consider art college after that, maybe.

But for now, he was happy working fulltime at the Trickster, living with Dean who worked fulltime with Bobby, and carving out his own little paradise with the man who saved his life.

“Can anyone get service?” Sam asked for the thousandth time, and for the thousandth time, everyone said no. Only this time, Castiel didn’t check his or Dean’s phone. They were safe, there were no ditches they could roll off into, and as long as Dean went slow and no one hit them, they’d be fine.

The rain would eventually come to pass, like all storms.

Castiel still saw Missouri, but only once a month. They mainly worked on triggers and how Castiel would notice if he began to relapse. His body was officially healthy, and so now Castiel was only on two antidepressants, one in the morning and one at night for sleep that was take-as-needed. That was it. Every morning he’d wake up, make coffee, and take that one little pill, and as he did, every morning Dean would come up behind him and wrap his arms around Castiel’s waist, whispering, “Bye, bye, monster.”

Castiel was the one who suggested a road trip in celebration of Sam’s graduation (and secretly between himself and Dean, celebrating a whole year of not cutting), and as he listened to his friends bickering, Castiel marveled in how much he had improved.

It was nothing to wake up in the mornings, shower, dress, start the day. He even worked out in the morning before work – choosing to do so for himself with no other reason but to stay in shape. It was nothing to work all day, even if he came home tired. He laughed all the time, and sometimes he even felt like he was walking on air. He loved hanging out with his friends and had slowly become the one to initiate things and plan events. He even had a standing Tuesday night dinner with Ms. Tran that he never felt like canceling. Not even once.

But what he loved most of all were the small things.

Like how he’d cleaned the house without a second thought, or do the dishes, or do their laundry. Like how he’d find himself in a very loud, animated conversation, with a bright, big smile on his face, talking fast and waving his arms – even with complete strangers, connecting and bonding with them. Or like he’d find himself in Dean’s arms as they watched TV, smiling to himself and being so at peace. Or how he would just simply be out somewhere, actually in the moment - all the sights, sounds, and smells crystal clear, and he would take a moment to enjoy it, to enjoy simply _being_.

Dean had been so right. Recovery was worth surviving the relapses.

“I got service, I got service, I got service!” Charlie squealed.

“Oh, thank god,” Crowley whined.

“Tell me where the next exit is, kid,” Dean commanded.

“It’s… oh.”

“What?”

“We just passed it.”

“What?” said Sam, snapping his head around. “I didn’t see anything!”

“No one can, Sammy, that’s the point of getting off the damn highway!” Dean slammed a hand on the stirring wheel, and Castiel squeezed his other hand comfortingly. “We just need to keep service long enough to have GPS get us the hell out of here.”

“Everyone, relax,” Castiel sighed, making himself comfortable against the back of his seat, a smile playing on his lips as thunder and lightning cracked all around them. “There’s always another exit.”

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much for reading all of this. I hope it made you laugh some. I hope it opened some eyes to depression. I, of course, hope it helped some, but I really, really, really hope it didn't make anyone worse or validation depressive LIES. 
> 
> You are not alone.
> 
> Thank you for reading my story - via a fictional, made up, not entirely the same at all, Castiel's story.
> 
> But this fic was very personal for me. 
> 
> So thank you. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading.
> 
> SEQUEL
> 
> My beta and I have talked about making a sequel. I plan to finish my other two WIP fics before, but seriously....
> 
> If any of you have any idea whatsoever, totally tell me. All we've decided so far is that, in the fic, it would be a few years later, and Castiel starts to relapse - this time with tools to help. 
> 
> All and any ideas and suggestions welcomed.


End file.
